The Dogs of War
by Sigma-Crow
Summary: YAY! I finally got around to writing another chapter! REJOICE ONE AND ALL!
1. Chapter 1 Immersion

Sigma's Note: I had to create 4 new classes for this story. They'll be explained as the story progresses. Also, Final Fantasy is a product of Square Enix, and therefore I do not own it. I do, however, own all original characters, classes and weapons found in this game.  
  
Chapter 1 Immersion  
  
Cyril......  
  
Two figures were lying in the middle of the town square, their bodies covered with severe burns, but they were clad in full combat armor, weapons and all. A ring of spectators had formed around them as a medical team hoisted them onto a pair of stretcher, which were loaded onto a Chocobo drawn cart. The golden feathered birds cooed contently, until the driver cracked his whip fiercely. The two Chocobos snapped to attention, dashing away in a cloud of dust. The two pitiable young humans laid entirely still, hanging dearly to their last threads of life. The male, with thick golden hair singed at the ends, turned weakly as he began to regain consciousness. He turned his head ever so weakly, looking through glazed eyes at his companion, a red hair female who remained unconscious. He could see the thin streaks of pure white that shone out from within her brilliant crimson hair. He tried to say something, but swiftly he fell back into his former state. The cart drove on toward the local hospital.  
  
Several days later.......  
  
Ritz Malheur snapped out of her hospital bed, much to the surprise of her Nu Mou nurse, who quite literally lept back in shock. She was breathing heavily, and was soaked in a cold sweat. Feeling around her head, her fingers came across the cottony gauze wrapped around her forehead. She winced in pain as she touched the bandages, revealing the severity of her injury. And yet, she had no idea what had happened, or how she came to be in Ivalice once more.  
  
Ritz looked around the room, and the first sight she saw was a tremendous relief. Standing in the corner was Marche Radiuju, adjusting the straps on his lean Materia Armor. Entirely clothed in the black armor and leather, he appeared to be something of a specter, but with a long blonde pony tail. But while most people would fear such a sight, Ritz had come to find it most attractive.  
"Marche?" she said. Marche looked at her with his icy blue eyes.  
"Glad you're awake. I was beginning to worry," he said, pulling the flexible Leather Gauntlets over his scarred hands. Now he was fully clothed in his dark garb.  
"What happened? How did we get here?"  
"I don't know. I only woke up a few hours ago. I haven't exactly had much time to investigate." Ritz lifted herself out of her bed, and noticed her shredded clothing. Marche turned his head politely. She began to walk over to the new set of clothes that had been provided for her by the hospital, as well as the brilliant Scarlet armor piled next to it. She began to dress herself in the new clothes.  
"Do you think Mewt is behind this?" Ritz said. Marche shook his head.  
"I don't think that he'd leave us burnt and unconscious in the middle of Cyril. Same goes for my brother. Something really screwed up is going on here." Ritz turned around and faced Marche, fully dressed in her blood red armor and the Viera silk that Marche had requested for her. She reached around her waist instinctively, and was shocked by what she found.  
  
"Where's my rapier? What happened to it?" She was very concerned. It was the Vent de Dieu, the Wind of God. It was a gift given to her by the leader of the far eastern Viera Tribe. She had treasured it, but not so much that she hadn't stained it with blood.  
"Relax. No weapons allowed in a hospital. The Cyril Knights have it, along with my Paradox Blades. Probably a good idea. From what I heard from the nurse, I was delirious for about a half an our after I came to. No telling what kind of damage I could have done in that state."  
  
Marche walked over to the window and looked over the serene city- scape of bustling Cyril. A warm golden light shrouded it as the sun was setting in the distance. It was a remarkable sight, a sunset in a perfectly pristine world. It was one of the things that he had come to appreciate on his incursions into Ivalice. From far away, the loud whistle of the Massive Train echoed across the city as it began to power up for one of its cross country trips. Ritz walked over to him, touching his arm. She was a few inches shorter than he was, so she rested her head on his shoulder.  
"Something is definitely wrong here in Ivalice. I don't know what, but I'm getting a seriously bad feeling looking over the city here. There's a reason we're here, and it can't be Mewt or Doned having one of their episodes," Marche said. He had suddenly become very stoic, standing there in the waning sunlight.  
"What if it's actually something inside Ivalice that pulled us in? Could someone do that?" Ritz said inquisitively.  
"I don't know. But I do know who might shed some light on the situation. It's time to go see Cid." 


	2. Chapter 2 Loss

Sigma's Note: This chapter has a lot of talking. Bear with it, the ending is great.  
  
Chapter 2 Loss  
  
"I'm am sssorry to sssay that Judgemassster Cid isss no longer with usss," said the solemn Bangaa that agreed to meet with Marche and Ritz at Bervenia. Marche's jaw dropped in shock. Cid? Dead? How was it possible?  
"What happened?" Ritz said, her voice warbling slightly. She was doing her best to hide the gut wrenching sadness that had suddenly washed over her.  
"It was last Kingmoon," said a young boy who walked out from behind a the think double doors leading to the interior of Lawcasta, the headquarters of the Judges of Ivalice. The child couldn't have been older than 9 or 10, but his cold, tactile eyes betrayed his youth. The golden haired adolescent continued:  
"My name is Strife Armada. I am the new Judgemaster."  
"You?" Marche said in surprise. This boy was the supreme authority in Ivalice? "You're the Judgemaster?"  
"Master Cid had been training me for years, ever since you refused to take up his sword. But don't feel guilty. There's nothing you could have done." Strife said it in such a way that it was almost like he had read Marche's mind. But it did not detract from the guilt welling up inside of him.  
"I do feel somewhat responsible," he said, "If I had excepted his offer..."  
"Sir Radiuju, there was absolutely nothing you could have done. It was an assassination. He had already resigned when it happened, but clearly, there were some people who didn't want him there at all." Strife motioned them to follow him deeper into Lawcasta. Marche and Ritz looked at the Templar, who waved them on. Intent on getting to the bottom of the situation, they proceeded to walk down the stone halls of the fortress.  
  
They found Strife sitting in a simplistic throne in a royal chamber that was more of an office than a great hall. Stacks of parchment piled up to near the ceiling, and there were dozens of Law books lying open on various surfaces. The Judgemaster seemed to be able to ignore the clutter, as he addressed the two warriors again.  
"As you can see, I have been quite busy. Those papers there are Violations from across Ivalice. In the pitiable absence of Lord Cid, this Kingdom has entered something of a depression. The economy is faltering, crime is rampant, and the general view of the public is somewhat pessimistic. I imagine that my presence is not exactly improving things. The people don't seem to think of me as a Judemaster yet."  
"With all do respect, Sir, I don't blame them. As......articulate as you are, you seem somewhat young to be a Judgemaster," Marche said boldly. Although he recognized Strife's latent maturity, he was having some difficulty seeing him as his senior. Fortunately, the boy Judge laughed heartily.  
"I suppose most people forgot that Lord Cid was only 10 when his former Judgemaster was killed in battle. Our training, thorough as it may be, is also very fast paced. Most Judgemasters come to power at a very early age." Strife stood up and began to wander around the room. It was almost comical, such a young boy pacing like a general before a battle. But there was something about the way Strife's eyes seemed to stare into their souls that gave Marche and Ritz confidence in his tactile abilities.  
  
All this while, Ritz was growing impatient. She had come to Lawcasta to find out why they were suddenly trapped in Ivalice, not to hear the history of the Ivalician Judical System. She had remianed silent up until this point, putting her misguided trust in Marche's conferencial skills, which were dubious to say the least. She needed to get things done.  
  
She drew the diamond blade of the Vent de Dieu, and in one smooth motion, drove the glimmering point of the rapier into on of the Dabunkwood tables. It caught Marche's attention, who turned his head quickly. But Strife continued to pace, unflinching in his concentration.  
"I would appreciate it if you did not damage my furniture," he said, as he picked up a tattered piece of parchment.  
"Listen up, kid, we have a problem. And as much as I'm sure you and Marche are enjoying this stimulating conversation, we need to get down to business." Strife continued to read in semi-ignorance of Ritz's frustration.  
"Well, now, then you have my full attention. And I would appreciate it if you did not refer to me as 'kid'" Ritz returned her rapier to its hilt, and spoke.  
"We're stuck here. I'm sure Cid told you about us and the alternate Ivalice world we're from. Normally, we're dragged here by our friends who need an escape from reality. But this time-"  
"This time you ended up unconscious and scorched in the middle of Cyril. I just happen to be reading the report here. I assume that's never happened before?"  
"Did Cid tell you about how we go here in the first place?" Ritz asked. Strife shook his head.  
"One of our friends, Mewt, used a book called the Gran Grimore to pull us into Ivalice. Apparently, the Grimore in our world is somehow connected to an identical book in this world," Marche explained. Strife stared attentively, nodding.  
"I do recall the disappearance of the Prince a several years ago, but I very very young at the time and don't remember much. The former prince was your friend, this Mewt?"  
Marche nodded. Ritz continued with the story.  
"Mewt's emotional turmoil somehow reacted with the book's magic and altered Ivalice into a world more to his liking. When we finally pulled him out, this world returned more or less to normal, with a few exceptions. Cid, Mewt's father in the real world was somehow imprinted in Ivalice permanently, as was Babus Swain, who was nothing more than a reaction to Mewt's insecurities. I'm sure you know of Babus." Again, Strife nodded.  
"Yes, I met with Babus when I first accepted the training for the seat of the Judgemaster five years ago. He's actually a rather prominent member in our Kingdom now." The young Judgemaster sifted through some of the papers on one of the fine wood tables. He picked one out and read it.  
"You also returned here three times more?"  
"I don't see what that has to do with anything. You know where we come from, and now we need some information here. And I mean now," Ritz said, irritated. Strife remained as stoic as ever. Marche looked at Ritz, slightly annoyed.  
"Ritz, please." He stared into her eyes with his piercing icy gaze. She looked deep into his eyes for a moment, then backed down. "We'll figure out what's going on here. But you're going to have to show some patience." Ritz walked a few feet away, and stood resentfully still.  
"Yes, we were pulled back three other times. The first time it was actually Cid that did it. He needed our help to solve a problem with corrupt Judges. The second and third time, it was because either Mewt or Doned, my brother, went back in sort of a depressed escape and dragged us in with them. We haven't been back since, though. We don't exactly know what's going on."  
"I see," Stife said, as he stood up and walked over to one of the windows overlooking the bustling courtyard of Bervenia.  
"You chose to appear in this world at a very unpleasant time," he said solemnly. "Although you may not be able to tell from here, we're in the middle of a very bloody war. Very, very bloody."  
"A war?" Ritz asked, as she turned around . She had been intentionally facing away from Strife and Marche out of resentment, but now she had his full attention.  
"With whom?" questioned Marche. Strife looked out the window. The loud squeal of the massive train echoed through the courts of Lawcasta. Strife turned around and saw a Baanga Defender enter the room.  
"Sssir, the train hasss arrived." He said as he bowed. Strife walked over to the door and motioned for Marche and Ritz to follow.  
"I have an appointment of dire concern. It requires me to head to the Plains. I would be happy to explain the situation to you on the way."  
"We're taking the train?" Marche asked. He had never ridden on the Massive Train that spanned the entire Kingdom of Ivalice. Whether or not it was particularly safe was a grave concern to him. Ritz notice the hesitation in his eyes and she grabbed his hand.  
"Come on. This is the only way to get the bottom of this," she said kindly. Marche said and walked out of the room.  
  
The Massive Train.....  
  
The colossal vehicle was not called the Massive Train for no reason. It was essentially a giant, mobile fortress that ran on a track that spanned thousands of miles in all directions. Since the war had begun, its engineers had reinforced it with heavy armor and ports for the newest addition to the Ivalician military, Cannons. It was utterly impregnable, and it moved at quite a pace as well.  
  
Marche and Ritz sat in awe in the Royal Quarters of the Train. Unlike the most of the iron behemoth, the room was cushioned and weightbalanced, so that the roar and rumble of the giant steam engines became nary a hum in the lush suite. Strife sat across from them, draped in a dark red cape. A Nu Mou served them a tray of fine Marlboro Wine.  
"This is some place you have here," Marche remarked as he observed the long tapestries of epic battles that shrouded the walls. So much work had gone into them that the outlines of each character had a string of gold through, causing them to shimmer in the light of the chandelier.  
"Despite for my request for more spartan quarters, the engineers of the train maintain that the Judgemaster is Royalty and should be treated as such. But it serves my purposes," Strife answered as he sipped the dark red wine. "However, what I must speak to you about is far more grave than this lavish room would suggest." The young Judgemaster's tone had suddenly dropped.  
"The war," Ritz said. Strife nodded.  
"It began about seven years ago, during the reign of Lord Cid. A man named Archemis was the Imperator of the Northern Army. Cid had commissioned him to take his forces up pass the mountains and into the territory of the Bangaa kingdoms. They used to be a series of feudal states, but prior to that, their infighting came to an end when a single Dynasty, the Syzingians, took over and united the tribes.  
"Archemis was sent up to stop the advances of the arrogant Syzingians who were trying to expand into our territory. By all accounts, he succeeded. But then a curious thing happened. He vanished, along with his entire army. No word was ever heard back from them. Ever. Our scouts and messengers that were sent to contact them also disappeared.  
"They disappeared? For how long?" Marche asked.  
"Four years. After that, we received some horrifying news. Towns and cities on the northern boarder where being attacked by vicious soldiers. The reports we received were to disturbing to relate. It didn't take long for us to find that Archemis had come back. But he had some new, insane ambition. He seems hell-bent on conquering Ivalice, and we don't know why. Ever since he appeared, we've been fighting a losing battle. Our armies are no match for his troops, and so he's been gradually south, taking town after town. The Ivalice of today is half the size it was during the reign of Lord Cid. I can only feel that it is my fault, that I am an inferior commander," Strife sunk in his seat. Ritz and Marche were stunned.  
"A kid should not have to hold such responsibility. You have my sympathy," Ritz said. Strife nodded and gestured with his hand.  
"I thank you for your pity. However, that is not the worst part of this war."  
"There's more?" Marche said. He had begun to feel that the crisis they were getting themselves into was growing much larger than he had first anticipated.  
"Archemis's personal Death Clan. He calls them the Megalomancers. They are soldiers of ungodly power. I've personally seen a single Bangaa Bishop wipe out an entire regiment in an instant. But Archemis has not been using them to augment his military. No, he's using them to hunt Clans."  
"Clans?" Marche shuddered.  
"He knows that the Clans are where the true power of Ivalice lies. You two proved that yourselves. The Megalomancers have systematically hunted down and exterminated Clan after Clan, to insure that our forces to do not have them as back up. And it's working. Without the skills of the Clans, we're being pushed farther and farther back," Strife explained. The sheer shock was visible on the faces of Marche and Ritz.  
"Marche," Ritz started. Marche nodded before she could say anything.  
"I know," he responded, intuitively know what she was thinking.  
  
Suddenly, there was a loud squeal that was audible even in the sound proof Royal Quarters. The Train was coming to a stop.  
"Where are we?" Marche asked. Strife rose from his seat and walked over to the door.  
"Follow me if you want to see that true horror of this damnable war," he said.  
  
........  
  
"Dear god," Marche said in troubled awe at the scene before them. They stood on the balcony of the Train, and on the ground, 50 feet below them, was a refugee camp.  
"This is where the people who have fled Archemis's army had come. There are dozens of places just like it all across the Kingdom.  
  
It was a dystopic nightmare. People of all races living in the squalor of the high walled fortress. Weak bonfires dotted the court, with throngs of people huddled around them in a feeble attempt for warmth. They were suffering from every sort of malady, from amputated limbs to some sort of terrible, epidemic disease that disfigured those who were not already disfigured by weapon damage. The moans of the people below horrified Ritz so much that she had to turn away.  
"What's happening to them? Why are the living in this hell?" she asked, her voice warbling in mental anguish.  
"It was their choice. To them, these fortresses are the only safehavens for them. Most of them are already dying from Viraga, which is why their bodies are so distorted," Strife responded.  
"Viraga?" Marche asked.  
"Archemis's army features a new breed of mage, a Plague Caster. I can only pray that you'll never have to see one."  
  
After looking down at the pitiable masses one last time, Marche turned back.  
"Do you have Chocobos on this train?" he asked. Strife nodded.  
"The bottom deck. Why?"  
"Ritz, you go and find Babus, so we can figure out what's going on here."  
"Where are you going?" she asked, visually concerned.  
"I'm going to get our Clan." 


	3. Chapter 3 Preacher

Chapter 3 Preacher  
  
Ritz: Skarcastor (Elementalist x4)  
(Assassin x3)- Expert job that relies both on powerful lunge attacks and elementals that tear open the air  
  
Weapon: Rapier (Vent de Dieu) A-Ability: Scar Force  
-Burntear: Damages with Fire  
-Freezetear: Damages with Ice  
-Bolttear: Damages with Thunder  
-Light Sphere: Powerful Holy attack: Damages and causes random status ailment  
-Focus: Increases All stats  
-Steel Twister: Damages surrounding enemies and causes knock back  
-Prima Strike: Powerful magic-supperior to Ultima and Omega  
  
A-Ability: Expert Lunge  
-Armor Strike: Weak attack, but negates enemy defense  
-Skill Strike: Damages and prevent enemy from using an ability  
-Wind of Heaven: Increases speed and evasiveness with each attack: also damages.  
-Stone Break: Destroys weapon, armor, helmet or accessory R-Ability: God Speed  
-Attacks 2-4 times when attacked by adjacent unit S-Abiltiy: Courage  
-Stats increase as damage is recieved C-Abilty: Scar Combo  
-Failproof combo for Skarcastors  
  
Ambervale Palace.....  
  
Ritz stood back aghast as the flames rose from the tall spires of Ambervale Palace. She had come looking for Babus Swain, and this is what she found. Ink black plumes of smoke poured from the once proud palace as the fire licked up all that they touched. She couldn't even move.  
"Babus!" she called out into the roaring inferno, but there was no response from anyone. Not a soul. "No..." she said silently. She drew her Vent de Dieu and held it up to the darkening sky that was waiting to pour rain the quench the angry hellfire. She drew from the deep well of Viera magic that dwelt within her and with the speed of a bolt of lightning, she dropped down the blade with a loud cry of fury. The Ice elemental magic burst from her body, and shot into the heart of the burning castle. The strike came with such force that it split the air in two, causing a loud thunder with the expanding vacuum. As the arctic strike hit the collapsing gate and tore it open, its icy winds spreading all over the charred walls. Then it stopped. In an instant, the Freezetear had stopped much of the fire. Ritz looked into the sky and felt the first droplets of the oncoming deluge on her face. The rain would finish the job, she told herself as she ran into the castle.  
  
The carnage was unbelievable. Mangled, burnt bodies littered the once great hall, their blood smeared across the walls as if attacked by a great monster. Not a soul was alive. Ritz picked up the pace as she raced down the passages of the palace, some of which were still housed the dying flames that had consumed the magnificent fortress.  
"Babus!" she called as she entered the main court. It was there that the most disturbing sight lay. The glossy floor were slick with blood that had poured down from the walls. The was because no less than a dozen soldiers and citizens were hanging there, suspended by cross-shaped knives in their bodies. The corpses themselves adorned the walls with their arms spread out like cross. They were all very dead.  
  
Suddenly, Ritz heard a moan coming from the distant end of chamber, where the head of the castle would have sat. It was protected by a blood red curtain that only hinted at the bodies behind them. Again she heard the low moaning and at once recognized it as Babus. She bolted towards the curtain, rent it two with her rapier, and fell to her knees.  
  
There, suspended in the same cross-shaped fashion as the rest of the men, were Babus and Shara. Shara was most definitely dead, and for a moment, Ritz almost cried out for her. Shara was a member of their Clan, and the first friend she ever had in Ivalice. But her mourning was cut short was a set of softly spoken, painful words. It was Babus. He was still clinging onto a hair thin string of life. He muttered the words again.  
"Save your strength!" Ritz told him. "I'm going to get you down. I'm going to help you!" His dying body shuddered in agony, but he managed to whisper the words again:  
"Get....the book....they know......" he struggled to say before he spat up more blood.  
"What are you talking about?" Ritz answered confused. But before Babus could say any more, a blinding flash of light erupted out of nowhere. A ball of energy struck Babus's suspended body and he cried out in torment. Ritz was hurled aside by the attack, and when she regained her bearings, she was the poor Runeskeeper fall from the wall, his body rendered into stone by a Break attack. It shattered as it struck the ground. And just like that, he was gone.  
"No!" Ritz cried out as she whipped around to face the assailant.  
  
Stepping out of the shadows, he was clothed in an emerald green robe and was adorned with brilliant gold jewelry. A Bangaa Bishop. He walked out calmly, chuckling to himself. He carried a very odd weapon. Instead of a rod, it was a giant steel cross with a glowing blue jem in the center. His arm was wrapped around it, as he held it battle ready. The red skinned reptile hissed in glee.  
"Who are you," Ritz demanded coldly. The Bishop walked into the middle of the chamber, where the overturned throne was.  
"There are some who would call me God's Messenger. Those men that you saw on the way here would probably thing of me more as the devil, though," he said, notably without the stereotypical hissing that usually followed Bangaa dialect. That was a sign that he was of the Bangaa aristocracy.  
"You killed those men?" she asked, unflinching. The Bishop laughed.  
"Every last one. But these two gave me something of a struggle. But as you see, it is nothing that I could not deal with." Ritz winced as she though of Shara's desecrated body.  
"What is you name?"  
"I am Pious, the First Megalomancer. That is all you need to know for know, as soon you will be rid of this mortal existence," he said and he raised his Cross and slammed it into the floor. It's heavy frame pulverized the tile below it, and when he released it, it stood on its own.  
"What gives you the right to do this?" she asked as she raised her sword to face him. "To kill innocents?"  
"I am empowered by God, of course. I am merely executing justice upon the unholy," Pious said smugly.  
"Justice? It is justice to slaughter women and children? You're a monster!" Ritz yelled in rage.  
"God will be the judge of my motives!" he said.  
"Then let him judge!" Ritz cried.  
  
Ritz slashed the air with her slender rapier. It released a powerful Bolttear that cut a fissure in the ornate mosaic floor of the room. Wild arcs of lighting exploded forth, striking everything in sight. Pious quickly grabbed his Cross and with agility that would seem impossible while carrying such a heavy weapon, lept easily out of the way of the vacuum. Ritz struck again and again, casting long, vicious gashes in the floor from which Fire spit forth. Pious countered with his Water spell, easily stopping the attack. He charged Ritz, swinging his weapon like a long, hefty staff. It struck with impossible speed.  
  
Ritz dodged the blows by little more than a hair's breadth, knowing full well that a direct hit with the mighty steel crucifix would easily kill her.  
  
She saw an opening and when for it. She lunged forward with the Vent de Dieu, aiming for the heart of the vile Bishop. But once again, with seemingly unnatural grace and agility, he sidestepped the blow. Carried by momentum, the two warriors stumbled across the room. They stopped and stared at eachother, panting for breath. Pious looked at Shara's suspended body and laughed.  
"You'll be happy to know that the Viera screamed most exquisitely when she died. There is no sound more pleasant to me than the cries of the unrightous," he said snidely, knowing full well how enraged it would make Ritz. It succeeded.  
"Shut up!" she cried, charging in a fit of blind rage. She had fallen right into his trap. Instantly, Pious let loose his most powerful attack. He held his Cross high into the air and from it burst a wave of blinding Holy energy that engulfed the entire room. The rumbling of destruction shook the entire palace as the Holy attack unleashed its fury. Pious laughed haughtily as Ritz was absorbed completely by the white oblivion.  
"Know the wrath of god, mortal!" he cried out as the attack subsided and Ritz's body fell to the floor. White energy cackled around her as she lay motionless on the shattered tile."Now it is complete," he said as he began to walk away, satisfied.  
  
No sooner had she turned around than his intuition kicked in. Acting on impulse, Pious swung around and blocked Ritz's thrust. The attack came with such force that it drove him back and left him off balance.  
"It's not over!" Ritz cried as she held her sword high, preparing for her ultimate attack, Prima Strike. As the Chaotic energies of the universe gathered around her weapon, Pious found himself unable to move. He was paralyzed with fear. He had never witnessed such power before. His mind could not comprehend it. Swirling spirals of purple light burst forth from the Vent de Dieu as it seemed to howl with a rage all its own. Finally, Ritz struck with the power of a lost magic. The fury of the attack drove her into Pious's Cross, which he held up as shield. It was not to be. To maelstrom of power shattered the blue jewel in the center, ground the metal into dust and plowed right through the Bishop's chest. At that single point, all the force of the blow focused, and Pious screamed in pain of unimaginable severity as the embroiled energy exploded into his body. Then it ended. His face frozen in a look of shock and agony, the Bangaa slumped over and died.  
  
Ritz stood still for several moments, before collapsing in a anguished mix of exhaustion and mourning for her lost friends. It was easily the most intense fight of her life. She didn't know how she managed to survive the Holy attack, but it left her drained. Limping, she rose and walked over to the shattered, petrified body of Babus and the Shara's suspended corpse. Carefully, she removed the knives from her body and allowed her to fall into her arms. For the first time in ages, she openly wept.  
  
But even that was cut short by an unnatural scream. Ritz whipped her head around and saw the lifeless body of Pious rise from the its dead state. Some sort of dark life was emanating from the Megalomancer's body.  
"It will not end this way!" he said in a distorted voice. He raised the shattered Cross into the air in a jerky movement that could only come from a person who's internal organs had been pulverized. The broken jewel began to glimmer faintly, then, like a monster coming to life, shrouded itself with a red glow.  
"Come to me! My avenger!" Pious cried out with the last of he revived strength. The jewel shattered into a thousand pieces as a dark cloud of energy formed over him. It seemed to boil in the air like some sort of evil thunderhead. Then it suddenly took shape. Glowing eyes appeared as the cloud burst into black flame. It was a giant, black Bomb. It roared violently, exposing its dagger like teeth.  
"My avenger! Turn this worthless palace into dust!" were Pious's last words. Obediently, the Bomb let out a beastly scream as it began to enlarge, swelling with explosive power. Ritz realized she didn't have the strength to defeat such a monster. She sat in horror as the Bomb grew, cradling Shara's body in her arms. It roared again as it reached its limit and prepared to release its fiery wrath.  
  
At that final moment, light lightning, a pair of flashing blades came out of nowhere, striking the Bomb with the dual Prima attack, Prima Cross. The Bomb wailed as the attack caused it to loose stability. Instead of creating a cataclysmic explosion, it imploded, leaving only a pool of black oil where it once was. Pious's body stared at the puddle with shocked eyes, before it too disintegrated into dust.  
  
Marche sheathed his Paradox Blades in the scabbards around his waist. He walked over to Ritz, who was still clutching Shara's blood soaked body like a child. She placed it gently on the ground and rose to her weakened feet. No sooner, had she risen, though, than did she finally give in to her exhaustion, falling into Marche's blacked clothed arms. 


	4. Chapter 4 Book

Chapter 4 Book  
  
Somewhere in the Northern Regions....  
  
"Pious is Dead."  
"Well, that certainly is a shame."  
"He was an inferior soldier. His use to us was beginning to expire."  
"Be that as it may, he was talented. No matter. Did he find the location of the Book?"  
"Indeed he did. He told me the location before the Girl arrived and killed him. It's located in Jagd Dorsa."  
"Good. I would like it if you went and retrieved it personally."  
"As you wish, Lord Archemis."  
  
Southeast of Ambervale......  
  
When Ritz awoke from her well deserved rest, she found herself in a wagon car being pulled by a pair of Red Chocobos. The bumping of the road had stirred her, and she moaned as she felt her numerous wounds that had erupted on her body from being struck by Pious's devastating Holy attack. Across from her was Marche, looking at her with a relieved faced.  
"What happened?" she said in a daze.  
"That giant Bomb almost destroyed all of Ambervale. I managed to stop it, but you had suffered some nasty wounds. We're on our way to Sprohm right now."  
"Shara....." Ritz whispered as she sat up. She looked out the window as the rugged countryside passed by. The rain that had begun to fall when she arrived at the Palace had come and gone, and the first few golden rays of sunlight pierced the spent rainclouds.  
"I'm sorry, Ritz. I know how much she meant to you," Marche said compassionately.  
"I loved her, like a sister. And now she's gone." Her voice had sunk into a tone of abject sadness.  
"She's not the only one. Our entire Clan, gone. Ezel, Lini, Palanza. Everyone dead," Marche reported. Unlike Ritz, the only noticeable emotion in his voice was anger. These people were their friends. They had fought so many battles together, and now....  
"No, no it can't be. That's not possible!" Ritz boiled over with emotion. This was unlike her. Seeing Shara hanging from the bloody wall of the Palace had jarred something inside her. All she felt now was a volatile concoction sorrow and rage. She slammed her fist into the side of the cart.  
"Well, almost everyone. I couldn't find Monteblanc. No trace. I found death records for the others, but not for him. He seems to have disappeared from Ivalice altogether.," Marche said.  
"So...he may still be alive?"  
"Yes. It's quite possible. In fact, I'm willing to bet that he is. But right now, we have some more pertinent issues."  
"What?" Ritz asked, puzzled.  
"When you were unconscious, you kept muttering something about 'the book'," Marche said. Ritz thought to herself for a moment, then recalled Babus's dying words.  
"Babus! Before he died, Babus told used the last of his strength to tell me about 'the book', and how 'they know'"  
"Do you have any idea what that means?" Marche asked, almost rhetorically. Babus could only have been referring to one thing.  
"The Grimoire. It has to be that," she responded. "Archemis must know about the Grimoire. But what could he want with that? Nobody in this world has the ability to manipulate the book in the way it was designed."  
"That's true. But we also know that it's our only way back home. And if they get their hands on it, it'll be that much harder." They sat quietly for a few moments, contemplating their situation.  
"Well in that case, we'd better go back to Ambervale, now!" Ritz exclaimed as she came to realize why Pious had attacked the palace. Marche shook his head.  
"The Book is not in Ambervale. It never was. Babus hid it at Dorsa by request of Mewt last time we were here. That Bishop must have gone to Ambervale to get the location out of Babus," he informed her.  
"So, do you think he succeeded?"  
"There's only one way to find out, isn't there?"  
  
The Next Day.....  
  
Jagd Dorsa was a decaying ghost town north of Sprohm. Even the bandits and bountyheads that tended to use Dorsa as a haven from their hunters were absent. There were rumors that Dorsa in particular had been cursed by Remedi. People claimed that the Dark Queen had been born at Dorsa before it was torn apart, but of course that was false. Remedi was only a figment of Mewts desires, his memories, and thus had not been born at all. But people still refered to Dorsa a hexed city.  
  
Marche and Ritz walked through the dusty streets of Dorsa with apprehension. Although it appeared to be silent, Jagds were the most treacherous places in all of Ivalice. Most people would prefer to scale Lutia without a guide than to even walk past a Jagd. The stone and clay buildings had begun to erode, collapsing in on themselves from years of disrepair.  
"Well, Babus did choose a perfect hiding place. No one would expect the Gran Grimoire to be hidden here," Ritz remarked as she surveyed the area. Because of a vein of particularly potent Black Magic than ran through the heart of Dorsa, that sky above it had been scarred. Angry clouds boiled overhead as thunder rumbled through the allconsuming gloom. It was an imposing sight.  
"There's a hidden passage under the White Goblin Pub. It leads to an underground vault that contains the Grimoire. That's where we need to be,"Marche said.  
"And where Archemis's men will be too, if they beat us to it," Ritz replied.  
"Let's hope that doesn't hap-" Marche stopped, midsentence. He had heard something that was not part of the ambient atmosphere. Ritz reached for the hilt of her Rapier. She had heard it too.  
  
The two warriors remained perfectly still. It sounded like a footstep on the clay tile roofs of the buildings. They held there breaths as another creaking footstep was heard.  
"The roof..." Ritz whispered. Marche nodded carefully, almost unnoticeably. Suddenly, there was the quiet, almost inaudible sound of a bowstring being drawn.  
"Get down!" Marche yelled as he and Ritz hurtled themselves to the gound. And arrow shot through the air right by them, shrouded in an azure halo. The arrow struck the wall of the shop behind them, and, rather unexpectedly, detonated. A blue explosion issued forth, launching chucks of clay in all directions. Marche and Ritz regained their composure in time to see the rain of Ultima charged arrows falling from the sky.  
  
With battle trained reflexes they dashed across the street into an alleyway, deftly avoiding the hail of piercing death plummeting to meet them. They dove into the alley as an arrow struck the ground where they had been standing a fraction of a second before hand. The explosion propelled them further into the alley, and temporarily out of range of their assailants. It also made their landing much more harsh.  
"Those where definitely Ultima Shots," Marche said as he picked himself up. He quickly drew his Paradox Blades, their steely gleam crackling with energy.  
"Hunters. Great. Looks like Archemis was waiting for us," Ritz added. She adjusted a strap of her armor that had been knocked loose by the fall.  
"Which means he was here first. We're in deep here, aren't we?' Marche said jokingly. The two of them had been in many situations like that before, and had survived, albeit not unscathed.  
"The pub is still about 70 feet away. If go fast, we might just make it," Marche said as he felt the shudder of an Ultima shot hitting an adjacent building. The Hunters ha found where they were, and seemed perfectly content to chip away at their defense until they had a clear shot.  
  
Marche began to step forward to make his mad dash for the White Goblin Pub, but before he could leave the alley way, Ritz grabbed his arm. He turned around in surprise as Ritz kissed him on the lips. Before he knew what was happening, though, it was over, and Ritz was starring sheepishly into his eyes. He smiled.  
  
The two bolted out of the protection of the Alleyway and ran directly at the White Goblin. The Hunters where surprised at this foolhardy maneuver, but it only took them a second to recover their shooting pattern, firing Arrow after arrow infused with the devastating Ultima spell. Each strike came closer and closer to the hitting their mark, leaving large craters at each point of impact.  
  
Ritz and Marche ran with tunnel vision towards the sign depicting a white goblin sitting on a stump, holding a giant mug of ale. That was their singular goal, and they managed to focus on reaching it so thoroughly that they didn't even notice the Utima Shots that were tearing up the street behind them. To them, it all seemed to move in slow-motion.  
  
Finally they had reached the Pub. Ritz scrambled to grab to handle to the door but, to her horror, it was locked tightly. Thinking quickly, and with the sound of an arrow whizzing towards her head, she struck at the heavy wooden door with her Vent de Dieu. It splintered immediately. But she was too slow. Before she could even step in the door, an arrow had zeroed in on her. She turned her head as the projectile drew closer to striking her dead. Time seemed to slow to a crawl.  
  
At the last second, there was a violent swishing sound and a flash of steel as Marche swung his Blades and cut the Arrow in half, stopping it from reaching Ritz. However, the act of cutting the arrow released the energy of the Ultima spell in concussive form. The shock wave struck Ritz's savior directly in the chest, actually launching him through the window of the Pub and into the far wall. She dashed into the safety of the pub as arrows continued to embed themselves in the wall, and releasing their destructive energy. She rushed over to Marche's body that lay motionless in the corner.  
"Marche!" she cried out as fell to her knees. She felt his neck for a pulse. There was none. Frantic, she reached into his pocket, praying that he had come prepared. To her relief, she retrieved the golden feather that he had kept there for emergencies. She placed the Phoenix Down on his chest, and prayed that she wasn't too late. She breathed a heavy sigh as the feather emitted it's lifesaving aura as it sank into Marche's chest. It vanished into his black Materia armor and suddenly Marche jerked back to life, gasping for air.  
"What happened!" he yelled as he rose to his unsteady feet. Ritz was overcome with alleviation as embraced Marche.  
"You were dead! You stopped an Ultima shot from hitting me and the blast launched you through the window," Ritz answered. She backed away quickly. She was surprised at herself. Twice in one day she had displayed more affection that she had in most of the time she had known Marche.  
  
With the blasts of Ultima Shots shaking the establishment, Marche walked over to the corner of the bar, next to the lavatories. His movements where unstable as his body was still in shock from being dead for a few seconds. Hs stomped on the ground, and a strange hollow sound came up from under the floorboards.  
"The passage is right here," he said. He stamped violently on that spot until the wood gave way and his foot sunk into the cavern below. Using his Paradox Blades, he hacked away at the small section of floor until the secret hall under it was exposed.  
"This way!" he called to Ritz. "And hurry up! Those walls aren't going to hold up much longer!" Ritz ran over and jumped down the hole and Marche vanished into the darkness. At that very moment, an Ulitma Shot blew a large hole in the front of the Pub. Arrows began to pour through it, decimating the interior of the tavern. The assault shook the underground cavern fiercely, and caused Marche and Ritz to break into a sprint for the steel wall at the end of the cave. To only light in the dark grotto came from that wall, where a pair of torches glowed, empowered by Fire Magic. They raced to the end of the rocky hall, and, upon reaching their destination, turned the heavy metal valve that unlocked the vault inside. They both pulled on the heavy metal door, causing it to creak open with a howl of the rusty hinges.  
  
Once inside, they locked the door from the inside to stall any of the Hunters that choose to follow them into the pit. The dim room was still shaking from the relentless rain of Ultima empowered arrows, but it held.  
"I've been expecting you," said a voice from within the chamber. It came so abruptly that Ritz and Marche jumped upon hearing it. There was the sound of a pair of fingers snapping, and the torches that surrounded the perimeter of the vault ignited, illuminating the room.  
  
The center piece of the hidden chamber was a tall diamond that shot rainbow light around the room. Inside was sealed the Gran Grimoire, their goal. But what was shocking was that there was a man sitting on top of the crystal.  
  
He was a black clad Ninja holding a pair of Masamunes lazily, as if he was not expecting a fight. His eyes shone with an unnatural purple color, and they seemed to glow behind the veil that concealed the rest of his face.  
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Second Megalomancer. I am called Sagaro Sake, the Lightning Blade," he said nonchalantly.  
"Another Megalomancer!" Ritz said, drawing her Vent de Dieu. The vault was just large enough for the three of them to engage eachother in a full out fight, but it seemed to be small enough to cancel out the Ninja's naturally agile maneuvers.  
"What do you want with the Grimoire?" Marche asked sternly. Sagaro stood up, still ontop of the giant diamond that concealed the Gran Grimoire. He laughed.  
"That is none of your concern. It's really none of my concern, either. I have no idea what Lord Archemis intends to do with it, only that I must retrieve it. And I do intend to retrieve it." Ritz stepped forward, assuming a combat stance with her rapier held ready to strike at the Ninja.  
"That's not going to happen. I managed to defeat that Bishop on my own, but as you can see, there are two of us here. You're not getting the Book," she said defiantly. Again, Sagaro laughed and spoke:  
"Don't confuse my with that foolish Bangaa. Pious the Preacher was a puppet that had lost his use. I should thank you for killing him. But make no mistake. I will not fall as easily as he!" With that, Sagaro lept from his crystalline perch and somersaulted through the air, almost hitting the roof of the vault. He whipped out his Katanas, and began his fierce assault.  
  
Sagaro struck with such speed and magnitude that Ritz and Marche were quickly knocked back to the wall. He thrust his sword towards Ritz's head, but she dodged at the last second, rolling across the floor. The tip of the Masamune embedded itself in the bedrock. Marche saw it as an opportunity to strike, but before the devastating power of his Paradox Blades met their target, Sagaro simply vanished into thin air.  
"Teleportation!" Marche spat as if it were a curse word. Ritz was too distracted to notice, though, and was taken by surprise when the elusive Ninja appeared over head in a puff of golden mist. He came down with both his swords at once. Ritz managed to block it at the last second. She forced him back again and into a wall, but before she could deliver the final strike, Sagaro simply teleported away again.  
  
He reappeared ontop of the diamond laughing hysterically at Ritz and Marche's fruitless attempts to strike him even once.  
"As much as I'm enjoying this, I'm afraid Lord Archemis would not be very appreciative if I returned later than arranged. So I'll have to end this little encounter now." With that, he raised his right-hand Katana and drove it into the diamond cocoon of the Gran Grimoire. Much to the shock of Marche and Ritz, it shattered completely, sending razor shards of diamond in all directions. The two hit the deck to avoid being impaled by the flying shrapnel. When they stood back up, to their horror, Sagaro was standing there, holding the mystical tome in his arms.  
"No!" Marche yelled as he boiled over with fury. The power of the Paradox Blades reacted with his raw emotions, and his ensuing attack was lightning fast in it's ferocity. Marche struck dead on with the Prima Cross, it's volatile energies causing a hurricane of devastating energy around his and Sagaro's unfortunate form.  
  
When the force cleared, only Marche stood, breathing heavily. He stared down at the Paradox Blades, which were still glowing with the residual energy of the attack. He had never struck with such speed or power before.  
"Where's Sagaro?" Ritz asked as she uncovered her eyes. She had shielded them from the brilliant light of the Prima Cross.  
"I....don't know...." Marche replied, still in shock.  
"Did you get him? Did the attack connect?"  
"I'm not sure. When the Cross hit him, he kind of melted away." Marche looked around the room. Suddenly, he realized that something was wrong.  
"The Book!" he cried out. Ritz jumped up.  
"Did you destroy it?" she asked concerned. Marche shook his head in defeat.  
"No, I'm sure I didn't. I would have noticed. Sagaro got away." He threw the Blades into the wall in rage. They had failed, and now they were stuck in Ivalice. Ritz came over and put her arm around him to comfort him.  
  
"Hey, the attacks stopped!' Ritz noticed as the rumbling above had subsided. "Sagaro must have pulled back his forces." She stood up and held out her hand. Marche looked up and rose as well as they headed for scarred surface. 


	5. Chapter 5 Monk

Chapter 5 Monk  
  
Sigma's Note: After much consideration, I decided to abandon my pathetic attempt at a European-esque Bangaa language. I am still fond of the idea, but I find that I can't conveye it with particular clarity. Also, I changed the Guardians to their proper names, Defenders. Enjoy!  
  
Black Monk (x3 Dragoon)  
(x4 Templar)-Expert Job requiring full control of all senses and the ability to focus one's mind on a single point in space to achieve 1-hit KOs  
  
Weapon: Katana (Petal Chaser)  
  
A-Ability: Lost Skill  
-Death Strike: Katana thrust that skewers for instant KO  
-Gravity Wall: Prevents all damage to target for 3 turns  
-Black Skill 1: Secret Ninjitsu that creates multiple images of the attacker to  
lower defense  
-Black Skill 2: Secret Ninjitsu attack that defies gravity  
-Black Skill 3: Secret Ninjitsu attack that strikes instantly for KO  
-Black Skill 0: Secret Ninjitsu attack in which the Katana and wielder become one  
-Dark Quake: Deals Dark Line damage in four cardinal directions  
-Banish: Dooms  
  
A-Ability: High Chakra  
-Acupuncture: Recovers and increases Weapon Attack  
-Teleport: Movement range doubles  
-Spirit Break: Reduces random stat of random enemy  
-Spirit Charge: Increases random stat for random team mate  
-Life Bond: Sacrifices next turn to add user's stats to team mate  
  
R-Ability: Foresight:  
-Evade and Knock Back  
  
S-Ability: Meditate  
-Increases stats each time Wait command is selected  
  
C-Ability: Lost Combo  
-Ranged combo for Black Monks  
  
Lawcasta.......  
  
"It was a total failure," Marche said, holding a large icepack against his throbbing forehead. "We had two missions. To find our clan and get the Grimoire. Well, out Clan is dead, with the possible exeption of Monteblanc, and now Archemis has the Grimoire." Strife was sitting across from him, holding a glass of Marlboro wine. It had been a day since Ritz and Marche had stormed Jagd Dorsa in an attempt to retrieve the Gran Grimoire. Now they were back at Bervenia, nursing their wounds and trying to regroup after several failures in a inconvenient row.  
"We're stuck here and we have no one to help us stop Archemis from getting away with whatever he's trying to do," Ritz concluded. She too was injured from combat, though not to the same extent as Marche, seeing as he had been dead for several minutes during the mission.  
"Surely there must be some warriors in Ivalice that could complement your skills," Strife said hopefully. Marche shook his head.  
"Our Clan was the ultimate fighting force. We didn't call it Ultima for no reason afterall. Any one of them was a lethal combat unit. Together, our power was pretty close to absolute," he said. This was no exaggeration. Clan Ultima had single-handedly saved Ivalice many times before.  
"Apparently, they weren't as invincible as you had thought," Strife said. Marche clenched his fist.  
"Listen, Strife. Some of the best friends we've ever had are dead, we're trapped in a totally different dimension from our home, and to top it off, I have a throbbing, screaming headache stemming from the fact that I took an Ultima Shot to the chest two days ago. I am pissed, and I don't need you putting down out Clan right now," he said in a burst of irate anger. He slouched back in the chair and sighed deeply.  
  
Nobody spoke for several minutes, until Strife rose from his seat, his long crimson cloak ruffling as he stood.  
"There may be a solution," he said calmly. "I believe I know of a person who may be off assistance." Marche opened one eye and looked at Strife dubiously. Ritz's attention was also piqued.  
"Who?" she asked.  
"There is a person up north. A Bangaa monk by the name of Ivan. He's walled up in a monastery beyond Lutia, close to the boarder of Archemis's territory."  
"What's so special about him?" Marche asked.  
"He used to be part of Archemis's army."  
  
Somewhere in the Northern Regions.......  
  
Sagaro kneeled before Archemis's tall throne. It stood like a tall edifice in the center of the darkened chamber. Torches on the walls provided meager illumination in the windowless room.  
"You have retrieved the Book, I see," said a voice from the darkness.  
"Yes, lord Archemis," the Ninja said, removed the large tome from his satchel.  
"Most excellent."  
"Sir, I also have news on the movements of the Skarcastor and the Soulvetar," Sagaro said, referring to Ritz and Marche. "It appears that they are heading towards a monastery north of Lutia Pass. It is possible that they are attempting to recruit the Black Monk."  
"Ivan? They will never convince him to join their fight," Archemis said, laughing softly.  
"Indeed Lord Archemis. But it gets stranger still."  
"How so?"  
"It appears that Simon the Hellbringer has already dispatched himself to confront them."  
"What? Without my orders?"  
"Indeed, lord Archemis. He says that one of his prophecies became Absolute."  
"I do not have time for Nu Mou superstition. Simon cannot be allowed to act outside of orders again. I want you to stop him by any means necessary. Including lethal force."  
"As you wish, lord Archemis."  
  
Days later.......  
  
Marche and Ritz stood before the gates of the gargantuan monastery. It stood in the bleak, blustery Lutian tundra like it had fallen from the sky. The monastery was surrounded by 100 foot walls with spires at its numerous corners. It was thoroughly impenetrable by conventional means.  
  
As they stared up at the vertigo inducing gate, a small porthole in the top popped open. A Bangaa's head appeared in view of Ritz and Marche. It wore the bizarre, vision obscuring helmet of a Defender.  
"What do you want?" it asked with a distinctly Bangaa accent, and a rather irate one at that. Marche cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled his response to the door keeper.  
"We were sent here from the Ivalician Judiciary to find someone. Is there a-" but he was cut off by the Defender.  
"Politicsss have no place on holy ground. Now go away!" he snapped, slamming the window shut. Ritz and Marche stood confused for a moment. Then, Marche banged on the thick metal gate hard. The sound reverberated through the walls, and soon after the port hole was reopened. The Defender appeared again.  
"You again! I told you, you have no busssinesss at Sssaint Tariusss of the Fallen Moon . Leave at once!"  
"We need to speak to Ivan Eranov!" Marche yelled, but not before the Defender closed the port hole once more. It was beginning to try his patience. Before he could do anything rash, though, Ritz stopped him.  
"Let me handle this. I've spent enough time around the Viera to know how to deal with Spiritual people, evidently better than you can," she said, as she rapped on the gate again. The Port hole immediately swung open  
"What?" he asked, clearly very angry this time. Ritz called up to him in a more calmed voice.  
"I apologize for my friend. We wish to pay our respects to this Holy Place and to Saint Tarius. We seek to speak with Ivan Eranov as regards your beliefs," she said. The Defender looked down at them briefly, likely trying to decide if Ritz was being sincere or not.  
"Very well," he said as he once more disappeared into the wall. Seconds later, the howling sound of gears grinding echoed through the metal walls as they slowly creaked open, revealing the inner sanctum of the Monastery. On the other side, a White Monk holding a long, metal staff greeted them.  
"Welcome, friendsss, to the Monassstary of Sssaint Tariusss of the Fallen Moon."  
  
While from the outside the Monastery looked like an impenetrable fortress of solid steel, the inside was an entirely different world. As it happened, the great walls that encompassed it were just that: walls. Inside was an expansive paradise. Plants and trees of a dozen varieties populated the court of the Monastery, as explosion of colorful Cherry Blossoms burst forth from almost every possible location. The sheer volume of Cherry Blossom flowers created an almost constant, gentle rain of pink petals, like a sort of ever present rose snowfall.  
  
Bangaa Monks and Defenders walked leisurely around the green landscape that stood in stark contrast to the unforgiving Lutia wilderness. The accented chatter of the Bangaa filled the air with thoughts of poetry, philosophy and prayer. In the center of the Monastery, a large group of White Monks organized themselves into a long rows as they lept through the air in unison, striking the air with their finely honed martial arts. In the background, Ritz and Marche could clearly hear the gentle trickle of water flowing through the gardens of the Monastery. It was remarkable.  
"What is this place?" Ritz asked in wonderment. The Monk chuckled to himself.  
"It isss the gift left to thisss world by Ssssaint Tariusss," he said proudly.  
"How is it possible?" Marche asked.  
"You do not know of the deedsss of Sssaint Tariusss?" responded the Monk. Marche and Ritz shook their heads.  
"We uh, came here to speak with Ivan Eranov. We seek to, uh, learn from him," Marche said, aprehensibly. He was not as good at expressing spiritual reverence as Ritz, who had spent much of her time in Ivalice with the Viera, a natural spiritual people. The Monk seemed to accept this.  
"Valk thisss way, and I will tell you of Sssaint Tariusss."  
  
They path they took brought them through a lush garden. Monks and Bishops tended the carefully grown flora with near artistic effort, crafting works of natural art of stunning glory. As the three crossed an arched stone bridge, Marche looked down to see multi colored Kois swimming lazily through the crystal clean water below.  
"Sssaint Tariusss wasss a Evangariusss. It isss a Bangaa word that I ssssupossse would transsslate asss Godsssend in the Human language. We believe that he was sssent from thee heavensss to protect the world.  
"Our ssscripturesss tell of hisss exploitsss. But hisss greatessst deed was that he sssaved the world from ultimte dessstruction."  
"How did he do that?" Marche asked.  
"He fought the ssserventsss of Vandal, the Devil King. He wasss sssuccesssful, but Vandal was infuriated by defeat. Ssso, he decided to dessstroy all life in Ivalice by causssing the Moon to fall from the heavensss. It would have broken the world in two, had not Sssaint Tariusss acted. He lept into the sssky to meet the falling moon, and drew hisss sssword. Finally, before it could strike, he cut the moon into a thousssand piecesss. He then hurled them back into the sssky, where it vas reborn by God, but he kept one piece. That one piece wasss planted in the earth where this Monassstery sssitsss. From that piece, all magic in the world wasss born."  
"And it is that piece of the moon that protects this Monastery from the elements," Ritz said. The Monk nodded.  
  
Finally, the three arrived at one of the far corners of Monastery. There was a large metal door with a golden cross carved into it.  
"Brother Ivan liesss beyond the door. He hasss requesssted to be left alone by the brotherhood, but I'm sssure he would welcome a pair of Pilgrimsss into hisss quartersss." With that, the Monk bowed his head and walked away. Marche looked at Ritz, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door.  
  
At the gate......  
  
A typically short, stout Nu Mou Alchemist stood at the base of the entrance to the Monastery. He rapped briskly on the massive gate with his gnarled Scorpion Tail mace. The Defender that had greeted Marche and Ritz responed.  
"What?" he shouted. The Alchemist raised his Scorpion Tail to shield his eyes from the blinding sun of the unforgiving Winter sky.  
"I have come pay my respects to Saint Tarius," he said. The Bangaa laughed.  
"We do not welcome your ssscience into thessse Holy Walls. You only ssseek to dissscredit the miraclesss of Sssaint Tarius!" The Alchemist smiled to himself as he responded.  
"That may be true. But did not Saint Pryor the Wanderer seek shelter from the wrath of Vandal in the home of a certain man of Science who was eventually given faith?" he said. He was well versed in the religous beliefs of many of the Races of Ivalice, including the Bangaa's convoluted faith. The Defender thought for a moment.  
"May you too open your mind to the vorks of the Evangariusss," he said, as he began to open the door.  
  
Ivan's Quarters....  
  
The first thing that Marche and Ritz noticed upon entering the incense filled chamber was that the black cloaked Bangaa within was floating about a foot above the ground. His eyes were closed as he meditated silently, with his long Petal Chaser resting on his lap. No sooner had they entered than he addressed them. He had sensed them enter without even opening his eyes.  
"Welcome, friends," he said, without any accent whatsoever. It was something of a relief for Ritz and Marche, who had trouble following the stories of the Monk, with his thick accent. "I am Ivan Eranov, the Black Monk."  
"Hello, Ivan. I am Marche Radiuju and this is Ritz Malheur. We've come a long way to see you," Marche said. Ivan nodded.  
"Yes, I sense much fatigue in you both. But I also sense a great urgency within. I wish that I had away for the two of you to relax, but I'm afraid my chamber is not built with hosting company in mind."  
"That's quite all right. And you are correct, we do have urgent matters to discuss with you," Ritz said, sitting on the brilliant crimson rug that covered the entire floor. Slowly, Ivan descended from his levitated state, and, upon landing safely on the floor, opened his dark red eyes. He looked at both of his visitors and Marche too sat down.  
"I have an idea of what you have come here for," Ivan said.  
"I thought you might. I got the idea from your Gate Gaurdian that Humans do not frequent the Monastery too often. I suppose that you would thought that a pair of Armed humans from the Judiciary might not be hear just to 'show their reverence'," Marche said, eyeing Ritz as he spoke the last part. Ivan smiled lightly, revealing a pair of razor sharp fangs at the corners of his long snout.  
"You want my help to fight Archemis, do you not?" Ivan said. Ritz and Marche nodded.  
"Do you know of the situation in Ivalice? It's deplorable. I've seen some thing that no living being should be exposed to. All thanks to Archemis. We want to stop him, and we need you," Ritz said. Internally, she shivered as she though back to the carnage at Ambervale. Ivan sighed.  
"Do you know why I abandoned Archemis?" he asked. "One day, he had us attack a village of innocents to try and draw forward the Ivalician Army into an ambush he had set up. I said that I would not consent to slaughter innocent women and children for no apparent reason. Do you know what he did? He told me I didn't have to go."  
"What?" Marche asked, perplexed. Ivan nodded.  
"That's right. He told me I could stay back. Stay back, and watch the town burn. I could do nothing to stop it. The screams of those people will haunt me to the day I die. After that, I left without saying a word to that Monster. I dedicated my life to trying to repent for ever calling that man 'Master'."  
"But wouldn't you like to see Archemis dead? To ensure that such a tragedy would never happen again?" Ritz asked, hopefully.  
"No. I have realized here that no act of Violence I commit for the sake of justice could ever repent for the Violence I committed under that man. I have abandoned that life."  
"But don't you see? While you sit in the solitude of the Monastery, Archemis is advancing towards his ultimate goal. Do you know how many more innocents will die before his thirst for conquest is quenched?" Marche said.  
"This isn't about penitence, Ivan. This is about saving thousands of lives," Ritz spoke. But the Black Monk had made up his mind.  
"I am not a man of war any longer. This sword I hold is my last connection to my old ways, and I only hold it as a reminder of the blood that I have spilt upon the earth. I am sorry, but I cannot help you." With that, Ivan closed his eyes again and began to meditate once more. He had locked Marche and Ritz out of his mind. But as they were leaving, dejected, Ritz managed to say one final though that Ivan could not ignore."  
"If Archemis wins, then all the repenting in the world won't save you or anyone else from his sword."  
  
The two warriors re-entered the Courtyard into a scene of chaos. The once lush gardens of the Monastery had been engulfed in flames. Bangaa of all sorts ran around in a panic to try and extinguish the flames that lept up from the ground at every possible location. Many of them fell dead in their tracks while trying to help, their lives snuffed out by a fatal Death spell.  
"What's going on here?" Marche exclaimed at the havoc in front of them.  
"Look up there!" Ritz yelled, pointing to the eastern wall, the center of hellish melee. Standing ontop of it was an Alchemist holding his Scorpion Tail high in the air. Fierce Firaga bursts erupted around it, spreading destruction in all directions. Marche and Ritz ran over to him at full speed, drawing their weapons.  
"You!" yelled the Alchemist as he saw them approaching. "You! You are the ones!" But they had no time to talk. To two of them lept at him with their weapons beared. Long before the were within striking range, though, the Nu Mou let loose a vicious Thundaga storm that sent them back to floor, their bodies paralyzed by electricity.  
"You are the ones that will bring about our destruction! You are the ones that must be made no more!" With Marche and Ritz grounded by the mighty electrical attack, the Alchemist thrust his hand into the sky, releasing a bolt of red lighting. As it pieced the light cloud bank above, it turned the sky a bloody red color.  
"I will remove your lives from this mortal Coil!" he cried as he slowly twirled the long mace in their air, as if stirring some invisible cauldron. As Marche and Ritz struggled to rise, they realized this could be the end for them.  
"Enough!" cried a familiar voice. Suddenly, in a puff of Golden mist, Sagaro stood behind the Alchemist, his blades drawn.  
"Simon the Hellbringer! By order of the Lord Archemis himself, you are to stop at once and return to Fortuna immediately! he barked. The Megalomancer turned around faced the Ninja, holding off on completing his finishing spell.  
"You fool, you cannot possibly comprehend the danger that these two will bring to us if they are not completely eliminated now!" he said.  
"Frankly, I don't care. You have acted without orders for the last time, Simon. You are either going to stop right now under your own will, or I will kill you," Sagaro responded. "Besides, I have fought these pitiful excuses for warriors already. They are no threat."  
"If that is so, then what if the harm of me destroying them now?" Simon queried.  
"I will tell you the problem. This Monastery is sitting right on top of a Magic vein. If you drop a meteor on it, you'll cause a chain reaction that will destroy half of our northern territories!" the Ninja explained.  
"It is a sacrifice that we must make!"  
"I think not!" Sagaro dashed at Simon, preparing to stop his spell by force. But Simon was one step ahead of him. He thrust his arm forward, unleashing his Death attack. Needless to say, Sagaro was not prepared. With a flash of eerie black light, Sagaro fell to the roof of the wall, not moving.  
"The deed is done. And now, to finish what I started!" He turned to face the wounded Marche and Ritz, who, though standing, where still in an incapacitating state of shock from receiving the Thundaga head on. They look up in fear as a ball of crimson energy formed around Simon's hand that he lifted skywards, preparing to unleash his devastating Meteor attack.  
"Don't move," Sagaro said. Simon whipped his head around to see the formerly dead Ninja standing erect, unharmed. An Angel ring on his left hand unleashed a thin stream of steam, it's energy spent.  
"This is the end of the line, fool," he said raising his Masamunes to attack position. "Now it is time that you saw why I am called the Lightning Blade." Simon opened his mouth to say something, but was silenced by a flash of steel across the roof top. In the blink of an eye, Sagaro had moved 30 feet, drawing his Katanas through the Alchemist's gut. Simon's eyes widened as he slowly began to fall to the tile roof, but with his final vestige of strength raised the ball of energy that he still held in his palm skyward.  
"Go..." he whispered.  
"No!" Sagaro cried, but it was too late. Like a bullet, the final component to the Meteor strike shot into the scarlet stained sky. Immediately, Sagaro vanished in a puff of mist, his screams of fury echoing through the air as he teleported.  
  
Slowly, a low rumbling filled the area. Marche and Ritz, unsure of what had just happened, looked up with terror filled eyes as the entire sky became dominated by a fireball plummeting towards them.  
"What is that?!" Marche shouted.  
"Let's get out of here!" Ritz yelled, taking his hand. They had recovered barely enough the attempt to escape. Of course, they did not here the conversation between that Megalomancers, and thus did not know that any escape would be futile. They ran for the gate that now wide open as Bangaa fled their holy place in fear of the impending destruction.  
"Wait," a voice said from behind them. Ritz and Marche turned around to see Ivan standing in the middle of the court yard. He spoke to them.  
"Young ones, I thank you," he said.  
"What are you talking about? It's our fault that Alchemist came here in the first place! Now let's go!" Marche said. Ivan shook his head.  
"There is no way to run from this, just as I have realize that I cannot run from my past. I must go through it!" he said.  
"What are you-" Ritz started, but stopped as, all of a sudden, Ivan lept into the sky, directly towards the falling Meteor. They stared in awe as the Black Monk hurtled towards it, propelled by the skills of a master Dragoon. The Bangaa behind them also turned and watched. Then one of them, a Bishop, began to speak.  
"And thusss, empowered by the will of God, Tariusss faced the rain of dessstruction, knowing full well that to fail would be to allow the world to fall to the Devil King. And he drew hisss sssword that sssung with the praisssesss to God and ssstruck, rending the falling moon into a thousssand piecesss." And as they spoke, the sound of a sword being unsheathed was heared over the roar of the meteor. Ivan held his Petal Chaser, the tool by which he had exterteriminated thousands of lives, and poured all of his soul into it. He attacked with such ferocity and speed that all that could be seen was the glint of a blade moving at an unbelievable speeds.  
"He did it!" Ritz exclaimed.  
  
Ivan sheathed his swords as he began to fall from his jump. Long, chasmous cracks ran down that length of the fiery meteor, fracturing it in a dozen directions. The Internal pressure of the meteor over came it in it's weakened state, and the giant rock burst into a thousand pieces, like a firework. The Bangaa below cheered their savior returned to the ground in a shower of sparkling pebbles falling harmlessly along with him. Ritz and Marche ran up to him as he set on the scorched garden.  
"How did you do that?" Marche asked incredulously. "Who are you?" Ivan stood stoicly in the middle of the dying fires, looking up at the glittering hail.  
"I am Ivan Eranov, the Eighth Megalomancer." 


	6. Chapter 6 Warzones

Chapter 6 Warzones  
  
Sigma's Note: you saw what Ritz as a Skarcastor can do. Now see what Marche the Soulvetar is capable of. It's quite a sight.  
  
Marche: Soulvetar (Fighter x5)  
(Ninja x3)- Expert Job that revolves around the use of multiple weapons simultaneously  
  
Weapon: Blade x2 (Paradox Blades)  
  
A-Ability: Arsenal  
-Dante: Line attack using Fire  
-Chaos Bomb: Causes massive dark Area Damage  
-Blast Spear: Attacks with a piercing spear of holy might  
-Raging Knuckle: Powerful attack that damages and breaks armor  
-Dual Breaker: Strikes with two maces to knock back and damage  
-Twin Cutter: An all or nothing attack with two katanas  
-Knife Rain: A ranged knife attack  
-Focus: Increases all stats  
-Magic Wall: Uses MP to act as an automatic magic counter  
-Prima Cross: Powerful Magic-superior to Ultima and Omega  
  
A-Ability: Expert Fighter  
-Scorpion Blow: Downward blade thrust with an explosive ending  
-Gravity Slash: Heavy damage and stop  
-Cross Blade: Attacks with four strikes simultaneously  
-Dash: Moving attack that allows for increased move range  
  
R-Ability: Sky Strike  
-Attacks with a massive upwards slash that also damages upon landing  
  
S-Ability: Brave  
-Stats increase as damage is received  
  
C-Ability: Rage Combo  
-Failproof combo for Soulvetars  
  
Lutia Pass.....  
  
The Paladin Commander ordered the charge from his mighty Red Chocobo. The blizzard environment was harsh, and he could barely see the oncoming enemies. They appeared to be amorphous phantoms in the stinging snow. He held his Knightsword out, towards the phantasms, and charged, his complement of Soldiers, Warriors and Mages behind him. The sliver glint of the Save the Queen shone brilliantly in the storm, but its glimmer was soon stricken by a icy gale that intensified the storm.  
"Forward!" he cried as they charged the enemy before them. The Paladin heard the frenzied war cries of the Humans and Bangaa he commanded as they rushed into the breach. Chocobos sounded their shrill call as the sound of giant talons beating the snowy ground approached the soldiers from beyond the freezing veil. They had met the enemy, and they were fierce.  
  
....  
  
Marche, Ritz and their new acquaintance and ally, Ivan the Black Monk rode through the mountains of Lutia as they headed back to Lawcasta to plot their next move. Their avian steeds cooed quietly as the first few flakes of snow began to fall from overhead. Ivan looked to the east, to the side of one of the mountains that made up Lutia Pass. An angry cloud of oblivion obscured the entire side, and it was approaching them quickly.  
"We should hurry up if we want to beat that storm," he said, pointing his Petal Chaser to the brooding cloud bank. "We do not want to be caught in the middle of a White Demon."  
"White Demon?" Marche asked, glancing at the storm. "Are the storms up here really that fierce?"  
"Indeed. It is thought that the magic vein that runs through this land causes disturbances in nature. I have seen people frozen solid in storms such as those, their limbs and digits blackened by frost. It is something we must avoid at all costs."  
"What an unpleasant place for a monastery," Ritz noted.  
"These mountains, they are a holy place to us. In the Bangaa tongue, they are called Fedre Buroni. The best way to translate it would be as Crucible. It is through these harrowing passes that one can see the glory of God, should he survive. And many don't."  
  
The three began to move farther down the mountain, separating themselves from the boiling storm above. They were just ahead of it, and so all that they felt was a gentle snowfall.  
"What is that?" Ritz said, pointing to a strange shape several hundred feet away. It was a red figure who moved slowly up the snow slope. From that distance, all that could be told of it was that it was alive.  
"That's a Soldier!" Marche remarked, spurring his Chocobo onward towards the figure. Ritz and Ivan followed rapidly as the movements of the soldier became less and less. He fell face first into the snow as they approached, a circle of blood staining the pristine ground.  
  
Marche hopped of his Chocobo and ran over to the fallen combatant. He lay motionless. He grabbed him and turned him over, then recoiled. The soldier had a massive gash across his chest, and his red uniform was soaked with his own blood. He coughed, more blood spewing onto his shattered body.  
"What happened?" Ritz said in shock as she arrived with Ivan. The soldier's lower lip quivered as he tried to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he raised his right hand, seeing as he left had been cut off completely, and pointed towards the towering spire of a mountain. Specifically, he pointed to the middle of the raging blizzard half way up.  
"Th-there..." he sputtered, coughing up more blood.  
"What?" Marche said, looking up to the mountain. "What happened?" But without another world, the Soldier expired with a sigh, his raised hand falling to the ground, limp. Blood dripped down it and splattered on the snow.  
"Put his down," Ivan said. Marche complied, carefully lowering his upperbody back to the ground. Ivan removed his sword and drew a circle around the corpse in the snow, etching several symbols around it.  
"What are you doing?" Marche asked, but Ritz silenced him. She had seen such things before.  
  
With the circle complete, Ivan sheathed his Katana and raised his hand to his forehead, pressing his forefinger against his scaly skin, closing his eyes. Suddenly, a blue aura enveloped the fallen soldier as Ivan uttered a mantra in the Bangaa language. A small dervish of wind formed around the two, as a gale of life energy surrounded them. The aura faded, and Ivan opened his eyes, sighing.  
"The revival Chakra has failed. His spirit has left his body, and will not return," said the Monk sadly. Marche and Ritz looked at the poor soul's broken form in pity. Ritz offered a silent prayer she had been taught by the Viera. Marche had a different reaction. He hopped on his Chocobo and turn towards he mountain. The snow had begun to fall more intensely now.  
"What are you doing?" Ritz asked, already knowing and dreading the answer.  
"I can feel it. Archemis did this, and there are others up there that we must save," he said, gazing angrily at the tall peak.  
"You cannot! To do battle within the heart of a White Demon is to stand against the will and anger of God! No creature alive should enter one for the purpose of shedding blood. I will not condone this!" Ivan said sternly. But Marche had made up his mind, and so had Ritz  
"We have to do this, Ivan," she said. "Go to the nearest town to get help, but we have to do this."  
"I cannot be part of such a blasphemous act! You cannot expect to survive the Fedre Buroni without a guide. If you go into the maw of the Demon, you will not return," he said, concerned.  
"We've done the incredible more than one time. We don't intend to die up there. You must get help, and we must fight," Marche responded, resolute. He and Ritz turned back towards the mountain and spurred their Chocobos. Ivan watched grimly as they headed towards the storm.  
"May God have mercy on you," he said. "I pray that he has not deemed this your time to leave this world."  
  
.....  
The Paladin Commander slumped behind the natural rock bunker that his forces had located before the attack. It was not going as planned. Half his regiment was dead, slain by soldiers that fought with more drive and focus than he had ever seen before, even in himself. They seemed to pour out of the raging storm, like a wave of men at arms.  
  
A Fighter, clothed in a protective animal skin cloak attempted to leap over the bunker for safety, but found an arrow lodge deep into his spine before he even touched the protective rock outcropping. He stumbled forward, the metal head of the arrow severing his spinal cord and disrupting his movements. His body jerking, he finally fell behind the bunker, dead. He landed next to the Paladin. He had long ago used up the last of his curative and revival items, and his White Magic had long since expired. The situation grew more desperate, he thought while looking at the young man lying next to him, with each man that was released from the mortal coil. And while their numbers diminished, Archemis's forces seemed to have an endless legion of soldiers, a sea of warriors trained to kill in an innumerable number of ways.  
  
The Paladin raised his Save the Queen, planting it in the ground. He pressed his forehead against its leather hilt as the dying cries of his stricken men echoed through the howling tempest. All he could do now was pray for a miracle  
  
.....  
  
Through the glacial maelstrom, Marche and Ritz were suddenly assaulted with the death cries of dozens of men and the sound of clanging weapons that seemed to resonate eerily both through the icy oblivion before them and the tall mountains that seemed to encompass both the earth and the sky, like a hand reaching from deep within the underworld to grab any unfortunate souls that would find themselves in the frozen perdition.  
"There's a battle down in there," Ritz uttered through the wailing storm. She squinted to see the clashing armies, but the snow was blinding.  
"We have to help them," Marche said.  
"We can't fight down there," Ritz replied. "I can barely see two feet away from my face."  
"Which means that neither can they. We're both at an equal disadvantage, but we're much, much stronger." Marche was confident in their battle hardened abilities. He drew the long Javelin that he carried on his back, a weapon he had been given by the Monks at the Monastery. Unfortunately, Marche was deprived of his usual arsenal of weaponry that could turn him into a lethal twister of blades and magic. The spear and his Paradox Blades were the only things he had to rely on. They were more than enough.  
  
They spurred their Chocobos into the fury of the storm and the fury of the battle field. The sleet struck their faces like needles falling from the sky, but they moved on, until they were deep within the heart of the breach. All around them, the sounds of swords and spears were heard clanging against each other, their angry din surpassed only by the cries of the fallen and the raging winds of the blizzard.  
  
No sooner had they entered the battle when a familiar sound came through the cacophony of combat. It was an arrow, shooting through the thick air. Several arrows, in fact.  
"Down!" Marche yelled as he and Ritz lept off their Chocobos as the barrage of iron tipped projectiles raced towards them. Several arrows embedded themselves in their former steeds. The giant fowls screeched in pain before falling to the ground. Marche and Ritz took advantage of the situation, running up to the carcasses and using them to shield themselves from the lethal salvo.  
"How can they hit us in these conditions?" Marche asked.  
"They're not aiming! They hear something moving and they aim in that direction and let loose a simultaneous attack. They're bound to hit something."  
"Cheap tactic. Okay, here's what we're going to do," Marche said as several more arrows struck their avian shields. "Send some tears their way to scatter them, and I'll go in and pick them off." Ritz nodded as she drew her sword. They waited for several seconds for a gap in the assault.  
  
The instant that the opportunity presented itself, Ritz lept up from her hiding spot and struck with a devastating Burn Tear attack. The blow tore the air open and spewed fire from the rift. It drove towards the group of Archers cleverly hidden in the storm. As the vacuum of air expanded, it caused a bubble of clarity in the white heart of the Demon. When that happened and the line of fire raced towards them, the Archers, now revealed, jumped frantically out of the way in an attempt to avoid the infernal attack. It was a costly mistake.  
  
The Archers distracted and his vision cleared, Marche flung into action, wielding the Javelin and Blades with such ferocity that it would make even grown Dragons cower in fear. Holy white light engulfed the head of the spear and Marche landed in the middle of the clearing that had begun to collapse once the vacuum dissipated. He attacked. The energy shrouded head of the Javelin struck the closest Archer, a human clothed in a heavy white animal skin. The force of the blow crushed his ribcage and sent him flying into the storm bank, dead. In a single fluid motion, Marche whipped around before a second Archer had even hit the ground from his initial defensive evade of the Burn Tear. He searing energy of the Blast Spear impaled him through the chest, much in the manner that it had his compatriot. He was driven into the cold ground, his body shattered.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Marche spotted a third Archer standing up and preparing to launch an arrow at his target. But luckily for Marche, this area was flat, unlike Dorsa, and the Archer had no way to protect himself while he attempted to aim his arrow in the tempestuous flurry. He took to long. Marche raised his arm and trained a single finger at the offending Archer. Immediately, a line of raging fire erupted from the ground and bolted towards him, tearing up the ground with its burning trail of destruction. It struck the Archer, who burst into a column of flames that incinerated his body instantly. Only one remained.  
  
The final Archer had strung an arrow and was prepared to release it. With seemingly unnatural reflexes, lept through the air as the arrow was released. It whizzed past him as he somersaulted. Up landing, he raised his arm and struck with a second Dante attack. The flame moved so quickly that the was just a flash of crimson light and the scream of a Viera that had been engulfed by the blaze. The last Archer fell, her body blackened by the burning holocaust.  
"That's it, they're gone!" Marche yelled to Ritz, who was somewhere behind him. But the storm had reformed around him with a vengeance, pelting him with a relentless cascade of snow. "Ritz!" he called out, but there was no response.  
  
Before he could call again, his instincts kicked in. He swung his Paradox Blades to his left as he pivoted his body to meet the attack of the Gladiator that had confronted him. Their blades struck, sparks bursting to life then quickly extinguished by the bitter cold. He heard the guttural war cry of the Bangaa, but Marche was simply to strong and too skilled. He knocked the attack away, sending the Gladiator reeling before he came down with his Blades. A fountain of red erupted in the oblivion of the squall as the Gladiator fell to the ground. No sooner had that happened then a Soldier attacked from behind, his sword drawn far over his head to deliver a head splitting blow. Marche turned around an released a ball of terrible black energy from his right hand, the Chaos Bomb. It struck the raging soldier directly in the chest. He soared well out of Marche's visual range, his body consumed by the intensely powerful dark energy.  
"Back off!" Marche snapped as he spun around, his dual blades cutting into armor and flesh and bone at every turn. Apparently, the majority of the enemy attack force had swarmed him in an attempt to overpower him. It was a very big mistake. The Paradox Blades glowed with their characteristic dark and light aura, the power of Marche's anger flowing into them and amplifying them. That in turn amplified Marche's reaction time, stamina and strength, creating a feed back loop of unimaginable power that would have consumed a normal man. But for Marche, it merely continued to build as he thrashed in a ballet of destruction. Electrical energy arched around him, repulsing those that would attempt to attack him. Marche whipped out his Spear and drove in into the abdomen of a Mog Knight, and the piercing continued into the chest of a Dragoon behind him. Marche released the Javelin, which had begun to fracture, unable to bear the burden of Marche's compounding internal ferocity, the Holy energy running long fissures down its broad metal head. He launched his fiery Dante attack, causing a group of Bangaa Dragoons who had planned on attacking him together to erupt into a cataclysmic fireball. He continued to cast the Dante attack, sweeping a wide circle of burning destruction around him.  
  
Again he lept through the air, he Paradox Blades slicing through the throats of a pair of Fighters before they knew what hit them. Marche noticed his vision grew hazy as he ceased to react on visual stimuli, allowing instead for his instincts and the Blades to guide his hands. A wave of energy flowed through his body reminiscent of when he struck out at Sagaro in Dorsa. It overwhelmed his senses, elevating his combat awareness to untold levels. He opened his eyes and everything seemed to move at a snail's pace. He could see the individual flakes of snow falling through the blank sky. He raised his Blades and held them out. He could sense the warm sensation of Prima Energy encircling them, almost as if the simple pieces of metal had fused with his consciousness and become a part of his own body, and extension of both his arm and his mind. Spheres of swirling dynamism wrapped around the Blades as he Prima Cross completed itself. Marche glared at his oncoming enemies. To him, they had suddenly appeared...insignificant. Nothing more than flesh and blood, with no discernible consciousness. He was determined to destroy them.  
  
It happened in less and three seconds. Marche lashed out with inhuman speed. He assailants could only stare in awe as this specter in black leather approached at a velocity that was inconceivable by the normal mortal mind. The Prima energy had taken on a life of its own, flowing across Marche's Paradox Blades and around his arms like deadly serpents that he wielded with the delicacy of a skilled snake charmer. The Blades flashed and spilt blood as they cut through soldier after soldier, crushing Armor, Shields and Weapons like they were made of rotten wood. Archemis's warriors cried out a single, unholy wail as Marche decimated them, his Blades dragging their life blood across the white virgin snow, staining it a dark crimson.  
  
And just like that, there was silence. Complete silence, with the exception of Marche's heavy breathing. He looked at his clothing. Not a drop of blood at touched him. Even his weapons, the terrible Paradox Blades remained unstained from both the speed of his attack and the purifying powers of the Prima Cross.  
  
Marche heard footsteps behind him. Running. But he did not react. He sheathed his weapons, slowly turning around. It was a foolish move, but he sensed that he was in no danger. He turned to face Ritz racing towards him. He looked at her, and a sensation of relief washed over his body. To his surprise, all his rage, his anger, his immense energy simply melted away. He was certain that he would remain in that state until his body could not take the stress any longer, and yet, as he say Ritz running at him, he felt his power being released into the air.  
"There you are!" Ritz cried as she embraced him. "I was worried about you!" Marche said nothing. He merely held her, taking in the fragrance of her perfume that she wore, even into battle. It masked the scent of the blood that covered her from head to toe.  
  
Ritz look around at the carnage that Marche had created.  
"What...happened?" she asked in shock. She had not seen such destruction since she confronted Pious at Ambervale.  
"I...did this..." he said, surprised at himself. For the first time, he realized what he had done. Dozens of lifeless, mangled bodies lay scattered around the snow in pools of their own blood.  
"You...?" She asked. Marche was speechless.  
  
Suddenly, there was a sound. More foot prints. Marche and Ritz turned to see a Paladin walking their way. He wore a cape that signified he was a commander from the Judiciary. He limped oddly, his body spent of energy. He dragged a Save the Queen behind him.  
"Stay back," Marche said as he felt a bizarre energy coming from him. The Paladin took another step and spoke.  
"I have a message...." he said in an echoing voice, as if there were two people speaking simultaneously. "Beware....the Plague..." he said before collapsing. It was then that the long sword stuck in his back was visible.  
"What?" Ritz said, but she soon received her answer. Before them, the raging snow storm split open like a curtain be drawn open. Behind it, there stood a tall man in a dark green coat. The coat obscured his entire body and featured a hood that shrouded his face from view. He carried a gnarled staff that looked as though its head had been filled with needles. He spoke, and a simple phrase was heard.  
"Let your valience be rewarded with doom," he said in an ominous voice. He raised his staff and a green halo enveloped it. Marche and Ritz stared at him intently, until Ritz realized what it was.  
"A Plague Castor! Like Strife mentioned!" she alerted Marche, drawing her Vent de Dieu. She charged the tall mage, but he was prepared.  
"Life Crisis!" he said, declaring the name of his spell. He swung his staff forwards and released the green energy. It lanced forward, striking Ritz before she could react. She fell to the ground, screaming in agony.  
"No!" Marche cried out, drawing forth a Chaos Bomb from his seemingly bottomless energy well. He thrust it towards the offending Plague Castor, but not before he fired a second blast of viral magic towards the Soulvetar. Both attacks met their marks. The Plague Castor couldn't even scream as the dark energy consumed his body, leaving nothing behind by a crackling singularity of power. But Marche too fell to the ground, stricken with the Life Crisis plague. He moaned as he body was overcome with intense pain that felt like a burning hellfire on the tips of every nerve in his body. The Life Crisis filled his body with agony until his writhing turned to convulsions as darkness filled his eyes. 


	7. Chapter 7 Endure

Chapter 7 Endure  
  
Sigma's Note: HA HA! You all thought they were dead! HAHAHAHAHA!  
  
Let me make one thing clear. This story will end when I decide it will. And I already have it planned out from start to finish. You'll know when it is over.  
  
Now.....  
  
This chapter is heavily inspired by a fantastic Pokemon fanfic I read long before I started writing. In fact, it was so long ago that I forgot both the author and the name. But it moved me with its passion and emotion, and it will be stuck in my mind forever. And by the way...  
  
Lutia pass.....  
  
Marche writhed on the ground, his throat gurgling as it began to fill with bile from deep within his agony wrenched body. A cloud of blackness blocked his vision, and only the occasional flashes of light passed through, torturing him with its blinding luminescence. The Life Crisis had permeated through every tissue in his body, spreading its agony through his body like a water filling a tub.  
  
In between his violent spasms, Marche attempted to stand, but his muscles failed him and he collapsed to the snowy ground in pain. His entire body was a quivering mass of physical anguish. He strained to reach into his pouch to retrieve a potion, hoping to alleviate his suffering. He managed to bring the vial to his lips and he gulp the bitter fluid quickly. To his surprise, some of the pain had subsided, but it still felt as though every inch of his body was engulfed in all encompassing flame. He struggled to his feet slowly and opened his eyes. Though hazy and aching, the potion seemed to have returned some of his sight, at least for a while. He had a feeling that it wouldn't be that easy to be rid of the Life Crisis.  
  
Through the howling winds, Marche head a soft, feminine moan. It was Ritz. He had momentarily forgotten that she had been struck head on by the same attack that felled him. His body still in screaming torture, he limped over to her shaking crimson body.  
  
"R-Ritz?" he said, his voice stammered by pain. Ritz moaned again, this time louder and more tortured. Marche stumbled towards her body that lay shivering in the arctic air. Quickly, he removed the second of his three emergency potions and poured it between Ritz's quivering lips. She coughed roughly and let out another banshee like moan. Clearly, her case was much more severe. As the potion began to take effect, Ritz tried to speak.  
  
"Marche?" she whispered. Her arm twitched as she tried to move, but the Life Crisis had taken its toll on her body.  
"Don't strain yourself," Marche said as he removed his animal fur coat and enshrouded her body in it. He felt the cruel bite of the arctic mountains cut into his skin, but he was more concerned with Ritz's survival than his own. Slowly, he lifted her body into his arms, which seemed to cry out in pain. The Life Crisis had weakened him, and it was taking all his strength just to move. Trying to carry the fallen girl in his arms was an almost unbearable strain. Yet he soldiered on, trying to find some sort of protection from the unforgiving tundra.  
  
Ritz slowly became aware of her new surroundings. It was dark, but not the same kind of darkness that she had been overtaken by under the Plague Castor's virus. A small source of light and heat was in the center of her new world. The ground was hard, as were the walls. Hard and rough. A cave.  
"Where...where are we?" She asked quietly. In the distance, beyond her faded vision, Marche replied.  
"I found a cave in the mountain side. You're weren't exactly lucid, so I carried you here and started a fire with my Dante attack."  
"Not exactly an Inn Suite," Ritz said. Marche laughed. Ritz could sense his pain behind the pitiful facade.  
"What happened to us?" She asked.  
"That Plague Castor hit us both with some sort of Viral Magic. I used my potions to try and fight the disease. They sort of work, but they're no solution. The Life Crisis, I think he called it, seems to attack in waves so your body doesn't get numb to it. It looks like we're both in between waves," Marche answered.  
"Marche, why can't I see?" she asked. He sighed.  
"You too? Hmm. That seems to be the only constant symptom."  
"Probably to incapacitate enemies who are hit by it but can fight against the pain itself. Good strategy," Ritz said. They both had now come to realize why Strife had hoped that they would never meet a Plague Castor.  
  
Ritz shivered. Despite wearing both her and Marche's cloak, her body still felt as though it was fully exposed to the elements outside the Cave.  
"We're going to die here, aren't we?" Ritz said.  
"Of course not. Once the storm settles down, Ivan will come up here with help. They'll find us and bring us to Muscadet for treatment," Marche assured Ritz. She laughed cynically.  
"That's one thing I admire about you. You're so relentlessly upbeat."  
"It's not optimism. It's fact. Trust me." Ritz chuckled again, this time without the pessimistic edge to it.  
"Allright. I trust you." .....  
  
Ritz had just fallen asleep when a horrible, gut wrenching pain shot through her body like a bolt of lightning striking a tree. Her limbs spasmed as she through herself against the stone wall unintentionally, like she was possessed by some sort of self-destructive demon. She let out a blood curtling scream as Marche stumbled over to her, following her cries of agony in his darkened world. He grabbed her firmly and brought her away from the wall, lowering her thrashing body to the ground. He took out his last potion. With his severely limited vision, he poured half of it into her mouth and saved the other half. The green fluid ran down her throat in an attempt to soothe the pain brought on by the Life Crisis attack. Slowly but surely, her seizure began to subside until she was left panting on the hard ground.  
"Wha..." she said as she began to recover he faculties. Ritz rubbed her temples as her head filled with a throbbing migraine.  
"Another attack," Marche informed her. "I used half of the last potion on you. With any luck it should last until Ivan gets here."  
"How long to you think that will be?" Ritz asked as her breathing began to slow to its regular pace.  
"I think the storm might be slowing down. I know as soon as it stops Ivan will be up here with a rescue team." The two here silent for several moments, until Marche spoke again. But it was not in his typically reassuring voice. Rather, it was in a much more grave tone.  
"Ritz, I want you to promise me something," he said. She looked in his direction curiously. "I don't want you to use the rest of the potion on me." She was shocked.  
"But you'll die!" she said.  
"I can handle the virus. But your case is much more advanced than mine is. Without the potion, I don't think you're going to survive the next attack." Ritz shook her head.  
"You expect me to-"  
"Promise me!" Marche said fiercely. Ritz was taken aback by his conviction. She hung her head.  
"I promise," she said solemnly.  
"G-good," Marche sputtered he finally gave into the Life Crisis that was welling up within him. He howled loudly as he arched his back in agony. And without the potion, he knew that it would be a trial for him that he may not recover from. Ritz knew it too. As she looked painfully at the person that she cared about more than anyone else in Ivalice, she made an executive decision.  
  
.....  
  
Marche awoke to find that he head was in Ritz's lap. She had arranged it so that the dual animal skins could cover them both sufficiently. Marche looked towards the fire and saw, through his dim vision, an empty vial lying on the ground.  
"You promised," he said raspy.  
"Shhh," she said calmly, as she brushed her soft hand against his cheek. "I wasn't going to let you die. I decided that either we're both getting out or neither of us is."  
"You realize that the chances of the latter are now far more likely," Marche said. Ritz smiled. Marche shivered. The previous attack had been the most intense yet. He figure that if Ritz hadn't acted, he probably would've died. But now both of their lives had moved even closer to the precipice of death than before.  
  
Marche rose from the ground and noted too how Ritz was shivering as well. Though the storm had begun to subside, the temperature had dropped dramatically as well. Hypothermia would begin to set in soon in both of them.  
  
Marche sat next to Ritz and wrapped his arms around her, much to her surprise.  
"We need to keep warm," he said as he tightly wrapped the skins around both of them. "Out body heat should provide enough warmth for both of us. But we have to stay close." Ritz blushed but complied, embracing Marche as well. Just like he said, she felt the heat from his body enshrouding her like a warm fire. Her heat fluttered as the intimacy of the moment set in. Very odd, she thought, for such a thing to happen when both of them were so close to cold oblivion.  
  
"I have a confession to make," Marche said. Ritz's heat skipped a beat. "I'm...afraid."  
"Afraid?" she asked. That was something she didn't see coming. "Of what?"  
"Of...myself."  
"What do you mean?" Marche took a deep breath.  
"Of what I've become. During that last battle, I felt something inside of me that frightened me. A power that didn't seem natural. You saw how many people I killed. Dozens. And yet... I felt nothing. It was like I was cutting through air. I didn't even notice the body count rising, or the sea of blood that I was standing in. I was a machine. And that scares the hell out of me." Marche was now shaking, not from the cold, but from some mental agony the likes of which the pain caused by the Life Crisis couldn't even approach. Ritz felt her eyes watering. Never before had Marche or anyone else confided in her like that before. She was left speechless.  
"I don't want to be a machine! I don't want this! I'm afraid Ritz. I'm afraid that I may someday hurt you in that state. And...I couldn't live with myself if that happened." Marche buried his head in her chest, and she wrapped her arms around it. She had no idea that Marche was dealing with that kind of stress.  
"I don't know what to say," she managed to whisper.  
"Don't say anything. Just don't leave me. Ever."  
  
Several hours later....  
  
Marche's eyes fluttered open under a bright orb of magic. He was lying undressed on a medical table. He looked at his scarred chest, and noted the red pin pricks where he had been injected with some sort of needle. He looked around, slightly confused.  
"Don't strain yourself, Sir Radiuju. You are allright. You're in the Muscat Hospital," said a slender Viera nurse who was sanitizing some needles.  
"Where's Ritz?" he said.  
"The girl is in another room. She is allright as well. You are both very lucky that those Monks found you when you did. You were both unconscious and near death, both from hypothermia and the Life Crisis. Fortunately, we had the experimental vaccine on hand and used it on you both. Thankfully, it worked."  
"So, we're going to survive?" Marche asked. The Nurse nodded.  
"Indeed, you can expect a full recovery in a few days," said the nurse cheerfully. Marche exhaled slowly, and fell into the first relaxed sleep he had had in several days. 


	8. Chapter 8 Nightmare

Chapter 8 Nightmare  
  
Sigma's Note: I can give you a 100% guarantee that every question that will arise in this chapter will be answered. Remember, if it isn't answered, then it's not a question.  
  
Oh, and anyone who can figure out who I based the character from this chapter on gets a cookie!  
  
Muscadet....  
  
It was late. Very late, well after midnight. Marche stood in the hospital room, gazing out the window at the exotic city of Muscadet. He always marveled at how the bright red lumber the builders used in the construction of the city seemed to glow warmly in the moonlight. Marche looked across the room at Ritz. The light from the full moon shone directly on her sleeping face, giving her a sort of heavenly pearl aura. In that lighting, her beauty stunned him. All he could do was stare, as if taken aback by the elegance of a goddess. He had been up all night and in her room since he had regained his ability to walk. For whatever reason, Ritz's Life Crisis was far more severe than his, and so she was still in her deep slumber while she recovered. The doctors had assured him that she would be as good as new when she awoke.  
  
He sighed deeply. Since they arrived in Ivalice, they had faced nothing but combat and tragedy. It was not like the other times, when they had been brought in by Mewt or Donad. In those times, he had come to enjoy his stays as escapes from the stresses of the real world. For the longest time, he had maintained that distinction, that their home was real and that Ivalice was but an illusion. Now, that line had blurred. And this was no pleasure trip. He felt a desperation that he had not felt since he was first been introduced into this world of swords and sorcery. But it was amplified by the grim fact that they currently had no way home.  
  
Turning his attention away from the sleeping girl, he looked up at the great disk of the moon. It was several times larger that the one on earth, dominating the night sky. So bright was its shine, in fact, that its illumination was just a few steps away from that of sunlight. The difference, of course, was the hint of azure in the light that flooded the streets with its soothing hue.  
  
Suddenly, he heard something. A sound, very faint, like a man whispering his name. He snapped from his daze and placed his right hand on the hilt of one of his Paradox Blades. The sound of foot steps echoed through the cold night air. Slowly, he drew both his Blades and held them, prepared to defend himself and Ritz from intruders. Instead, he heard the voice again, this time louder and clearer.  
"You are a fool," it said softly, as soft as the wind itself. "Illusion or Reality? Do you think that you can just decide which is which?  
"Where are you?" Marche asked sternly. He was set somewhat on edge by the fact that the mysterious voice knew precisely what he was thinking.  
"Come outside if you think you can face the truth," said the voice again. He couldn't quite place it, but it had a familiar sound to it.  
"I'm not in the mood for this. Who are you?" he asked, not amused.  
"Who am I? I AM the truth!" In the distance, a black figure appeared. He stood atop one of the buildings. The giant moon behind him cast his lanky shadow over the sleepy town.  
  
Immediately, Marche stepped through the window and onto the balcony below it. From there, he jumped to the clay tiled roof of a long line of houses that led right up to the night phantom. Cautiously, he began to advance, walking towards the mysterious figure.  
"Who are you?" he asked again. There was no response. The figure simply stood there, his long cloak flapping in the light evening breeze. A moon beam illuminated the left side of his face, which appeared to be covered with a metallic mask that fully obscured his facial features.  
"Answer me!" Marche snapped as he lept up to the figure and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. At least, he thought he did. No sooner had he clasped his fist around the fabric of the phantom's garments then his entire body simply...collapsed. His tattered cloak fell to the clay tiles of the roof in a ruffled pile, as if the person that wore it vanished. Marche lifted the cloak in the air, and sure enough, it was empty.  
"What?" he asked himself silently. A cackle echoed through the air.  
"You see how easily human perception is fooled? And you would be presumptuous enough to differentiate between what is and what is not. You are a waste of consciousness!" The voice, which seemed to come from all directions, howled with mocking laughter. Marche spun around, trying desperately to find his taunter, but he eluded him.  
"This is a game, isn't it?" Marche called out into the air.  
"Excellent deduction! And for you information you are losing badly!" Out of the corner of his eye, Marche spotted the vanishing jester atop the tall spire of a Bangaa cathedral. Somehow, he was standing on one foot at the very tip of the obelisk, like a hyenic gargoyle. Slowly, so as not to arouse suspicion from his enemy, he charged his right hand with dark energy, forming a Chaos Bomb.  
"How am I suppose to win if I don't know the rules?" he asked calmly, without turning to face the phantom. It laughed maniacally.  
"I don't think you understand this game very well! You can't win!"  
"Really?" Marche snapped as he spun around and flung the orb of energy at the spire. Like a bullet, it blasted across the roof tops and met its mark dead on. The steeple exploded violently, though the sound was muffled by the power of the energy singularity that pulled much of the debri into its black oblivion.  
  
When the dust cleared, the steeple was gone and there was no sign of the mysterious man. All that remained was shattered wood and stone. Marche smiled as he turned to head back to the hospital room when he suddenly felt the cold steel of a knife pressed against his throat. He froze, not daring to breath. He could sense his strange assailant behind him. He could feel his cool, collected breathing pattern and heart beat. He knew that he was in control.  
"Wrong again," he whispered into Marche's ear as he pressed the edge of the knife harder into Marche's neck. A small trickle of blood seeped from the thin laceration.  
"Who are you?" he asked for the third time. With that, Marche was surprised to feel the knife vanish from his throat, and in fact, he noted that the phantom itself disappeared. He clutched his neck to apply pressure to the minor wound as he turn around, confused. Yet again, the taunting laughter returned. Right in front of his eyes, the man appeared, in a ghostly cloud of mist, his metal mask shining brilliantly from the giant moon.  
"What, don't you recognize me?" he said as he spread his arms in a friendly manner. "Well, maybe this will help." He brought his hands up to his mask and loosed the leather straps that held it to his face. A bead of sweat ran down Marche's forehead.  
  
Then the mask was off.  
"Now do you remember?"  
  
.....  
  
A great boom of thunder seemed to shake the stone walls of the great castle to its foundations, jarring the two Fighters that stood atop the fortress's highest tower. Easily 500 feet in the air, the wind whipped across it with such force that the mortal enemies could hardly stand to face each other. Two blood red capes flapped in the breeze.  
  
Marche stared coldly at his enemy. He was breathing heavily, wincing in pain at the long gash that ran down his left arm. The copious blood that poured from the wound had stained his sleeve a dark crimson, and individual droplets had begun to fall from his limp fingertips, blow away by the ferocious gale. His opponent was no better off though. He was nursing a debilitating injury to his abdomen that he clutched with his free arm.  
  
Suddenly, an explosion rocked the castle maliciously, like a giant fist coming down and smashing the eastern wall to rubble. Then a second and a third explosion rang out, each one dealing massive, mortal damage to the once proud citadel. The enemy fighter looked to the left and to the right frantically, to see if a bolt of lightning had struck. Marche smiled and shook his head.  
"Sorry, Mirabo. That would by Lini. He planted explosives all through the castle. And they intend to blow, too, irregardless of which one of us survives. It's over now." Across from him, Mirabo stood defiantly against the wind. The White Paradox Blade in his right hand had begun to glow faintly, reacting to his desperation.  
"You'll go down too, you know. Unless, of course, you can kill me and escape in the next minute or two," Mirabo responded.  
"Actually, it's probably closer to thirty or forty seconds. The bombs have very short fuses," Marche said. As if on cue, another explosion erupted from the castle's great hall, causing the titanic structure to crumble to dust. Marche's hand tightened around his Black Paradox Blade, feeling the warmth of its energy flow into his body. Adrenaline flooded his veins, as he prepared to attack.  
"If you want this weapon, then you'll have to come and get it!" Mirabo shouted over the deafening roar of the tempest. He held his blade high in the air and charged Marche with all his might. Like a raging beast, Marche met his attack, their weapon's clanging together. The opposing polar energies of the Paradox blades sent arcs of electricity through the air, drawing bolts of lighting down to strike the tall tower around the two fighters. They hardly noticed. Both were so focused on the force pouring from their souls to their arms to their weapons that they completely shrugged of the intensity of the storm that seemed to gather around them and them alone.  
  
They broke of from each other and attacked again, lunging and perrying and defending. Because the Paradox Blades where hardly longer than a foot from tip to bottom, each strike brought the two Fighters into very close quarters. Both could see the burning anger and determination in each others' eyes, like a raging inferno. And each strike reflected that feeling of raw anger, sending waves of dynamic energy rippling through the air.  
  
Mirabo launched an upward slash that almost caught Marche in the jar. At the last second, he side stepped the surely fatal blow and countered with a lightning fast cutting motion that severed Mirabo's right arm at the elbow. He cried out in pain as blood poured like a fountain from the stump of the limb. The arm landed on the tower's floor, still holding the White Paradox Blade.  
  
Shaking from a combination of rage and agony, Mirabo stumbled backwards to the edge of the tower, holding his cleaved appendage. Marche stood before him, stoically, not feeling any sense of triumph for defeating Mirabo. Instead, he reached down and removed the second Paradox Blade from his opponent's detached hand. He looked at it, sensing its volatile energy flowing through his body. Then he turned his attention back to his enemy. Mirabo stood at the very edge of the tower, he arms, or what was left of them, outstretched. He looked into the angry sky as droplets of rain fell on his blood spotted face.  
"Then it's finally clear," he said. "I truly cannot find the answers I seek on this mortal coil." That was all he said. With that, he simply released himself from everything and lept back, falling down into his oblivion.  
  
....  
  
Mirabo, satisfied that he had shocked Marche, returned the metal mask to his face.  
"An unusual side effect of transcending death," he said, "is that your face become oddly disfigured. Haven't exactly figured out why yet." Marche had no reply. He had personally seen the man standing before him fall 500 feet to his death. And yet he stood before him, entirely unharmed, save for his distorted face. Even the arm that he had cut off had been reattached, as if it had never been damaged at all.  
"How-" was all he managed to say. Mirabo laughed quietly.  
"That's something I'd like to know as well. I suspect that one day I'll figure out why fate decided to preserve my consciousness. But at the moment, I'm having much more fun with your predicament. Oh, if only you could know the things I know!" Mirabo danced around Marche's confused body, appearing and vanishing at will. It was setting his mind well off balance.  
"Are you here to try and kill me?" Marche asked warily as Mirabo continued his antics. He had fought the undead before, but there seemed to be something different about Mirabo. He seemed to be simultaneously alive and not alive. He materialized behind Marche and snatched the Paradox Blades from his unsteady hands. Immediately, acting purely on instinct, Marche turned around and fired a Chaos Bomb at point blank range. He did not want to deal with someone as dangerous as Mirabo unarmed, and was determined to end their confrontation if he found himself in jeopardy. But he hit nothing. The Chaos Bomb flew into the sky without even grazing the phantom. That was because he had vanished again.  
"I can feel the power that you have imbued upon these Blades," Mirabo said, reappearing again in front of Marche. He threw the Paradox Blades down to his feet. Marche quickly recovered them. "You have used them well, far better then I ever could. I suppose you really are their true owner." Marche raised the Blades into an offensive position. He had decided that he would not be caught off guard a second time.  
"You can relax. Killing you is the last thing on my mind. And you must realize that I can't be killed." Marche remained resolute, refusing to stand down. Mirabo laughed.  
"Are you here just to pester me, or does your presence actually serve some kind of purpose?" Marche asked sternly. Mirabo stopped laughing for a moment as he stared deep into Marche's icy blue eyes through his mask. Suddenly, he vanished again, reappearing an instant later half an inch from Marche's face. In the blink of an eye, Marche found himself staring into the lifeless glare of the mask. He maintained his stance.  
"Tell me, Marche, do you know why you are here?" Mirabo asked. Already, Marche could tell that it was a loaded question. Suspiciously, he gave the only answer that he had been able to come up in his time in Ivalice.  
"To stop Archemis," he said. Mirabo was silent, his mystically gaze staring into Marche's soul through the steel facade of his mask. He seemed to be able to read deep into Marche's heart.  
"A pitiful response," he said as he backed off. "If you had any inkling, a single iota of inspiration, as to the powers at work here, then you would have remained silent. They are forces that even I cannot comprehend, and my perception is far beyond that of your mortal consciousness."  
"Your acting awfully high and mighty for a person who can't answer his own question. Do you, in fact, know anything?" Marche asked. Mirabo's words had not sunk in. Marche suspected that his warning was complete farce, intended to put him off guard. As he would later find out, though, they were far more accurate than he could have ever suspected.  
"I do know one thing that you don't. And its something that you are yearning to discover," Mirabo answered with a laugh. It was beginning to get on Marche's nerves.  
"What is it?"  
"I know how you got here," Mirabo said. Marche's jaw dropped. He almost released his Paradox Blades in his shock.  
"I see that surprises you, although I suspect that the truth itself will be even more jarring. I can show you, you know. If you are prepared to face that truth." Unable to speak, Marche simply nodded. Already aware of the effect the revelation would have on his poor mental victim, he simply snapped his fingers, and Marche's entire world came crashing down. Literally.  
  
.....  
  
They sky was scorched a fiery orange, rumbling as thunderheads moved overhead, desperate but unable to pour life restoring rain upon the nightmarish land below. What was once a proud bustling town was now a graveyard of ashes and embers. The horizon in all directions was nothing but flame and soot, as though God himself had chosen to smite St. Ivalice and everything around it.  
  
Marche stood in the middle of the hellish malaise as tongue of flame sprung to life and faded into oblivion all around him. The bottom of his mind had fallen out and he found himself tumbling into an abyss of indescribable horror.  
"What...happened here?" he sputtered. There was nothing but crimson destruction in all directions. He tried to close his eyes to block out the images, but he found that he could not. It was as if his mind was frozen in place, unable to ignore the holocaust vista before him.  
"I don't know!" Mirabo cried gleefully as he lept from the smoldering ruin of a school. The very school that Marche had been in a week before. "And don't think that you can just turn away from this. This is my illusion, and I am in charge!" Mirabo bounded across the blistered ground, as if he was enjoying the carnage before them.  
"Isn't it glorious?" he asked Marche rhetorically. He vanished and reappeared next to the paralyzed Soulvetar, his arm draped across his shoulders.  
"You're sick!" he snapped.  
"Oh, now that hurt my feelings!" Mirabo cackled. "Now, while I can't tell you exactly how this happened, I do have a pretty good idea." He teleported yet again, materializing behind a small pile of ash. "Do you know what this is?" Marche was too shaken to respond. Behind his mask, Mirabo cracked a devious smile. "This, my friend, is the Gran Grimoire," he said, picking up a handful of the burnt remains. That was truly world shattering. Had he been in control of his body, Marche would have passed out. However, he was still tightly ensnared in Mirabo's illusion and did not have the freedom to even to that. All he could do was stare while Mirabo continued to speak.  
"It would seem, that some ungodly power tried to escape Ivalice through an unstable channel. The result is this cataclysm you see before you. Without a proper channel, his, or her, or its energy was simply too much for your petty universe to handle. I can't tell you how widespread the damage to your world is, but I can tell you that without the book in this world, there is no way you can possibly leave Ivalice!" Mirabo erupted into a fit of uncontrolled laugher as a wave of overwhelming sorrow overcame Marche. Everyone he ever knew, his friends, his family. Mewt.... Donad.... Everyone....  
  
Mirabo snapped his fingers again and the Hadean vista melted back to the tranquil atmosphere of Muscadet. Now free from the physical and mental restraints of Mirabo's illusion, Marche fell to his knees, overcome by a tidal wave of grief. Needless to say, the sadistic ghost was greatly enjoying it. Marche stared at the red tile before his eyes, unable to do anything more than shake with remorse for his dead loved ones. He felt tears well up in his eyes, but he strained himself to hold them in, not wanting to give Mirabo the satisfaction of a complete breakdown.  
  
Mirabo. The very thought of him displaced his anguish with rage. He knew that he was not responsible for the destruction of his world, but an all consuming fury made his blood boil. It may have been the Blades affecting his mind, but he did not care. In blind vehemence he charged, prepared to cut him in half.  
  
With a flash, the Paradox Blades sliced through his neck, attempting to separating his head from the rest of his body. Without thinking he continued to slash, driving his weapons into Mirabo's flesh.  
  
Contented that he had killed Mirabo for the second time, Marche backed off. It was then that he noticed two very odd things. One, there was no blood gushing from the numerous blows to Mirabo's body, any one of which would have been instantly fatal. Second, he was still standing.  
"I though we went over this. I can't be killed!" he said. While he was speaking, his wounds neatly repaired themselves, the wounds autonomously zipping themselves up with a sickening slurping noise. Marche was breathing heavily. He didn't know what he was thinking. He had acted entirely on impulse.  
"Why am I still alive?" he asked. "Why wasn't I killed as well? We had no idea that the attack was coming. So why did Ritz and I and up here?" He was exasperated, he form once again shivering from woe.  
"As odd as it would appear, Ivalice won't let you die," Mirabo answered.  
"What?"  
"I don't fully understand it either. Call it fate or destiny, but whatever omnipresent force drives us to action doesn't want you or that girl you love so much to die. It sensed that you were in danger before your reality was destroyed and brought you both into Ivalice prior to the destruction of your world's Grimoire. Lucky you. However, I wouldn't count on that same force to grant you invincibility. There is a power struggle on the metaphysical level that is beyond you that I have just come to realize myself. The world is approaching a crossroads, and it will be up to you and the girl to decide which way it will turn. Choose wisely!" Those were his final words before his form melted into the darkness of the night.  
  
Marche's mind was reeling. It was too much for him to handle. In a daze, he turned and walked back to the hospital. By now, several people had appeared on the street, awoken by the sound of the fighting. The pointed and called to Marche but he ignored them.  
  
He stepped back into Ritz's room and found her standing in the corner. She had awoken from her recuperation earlier than expected. She looked at Marche with her gentle eyes, sensing the emotions that were tearing at his insides. Marche's head hung low as he slowly walked over to Ritz, his body exhuming physical exhaustion and mental torment. Ritz moved over to him and wrapped her arms around him, comforting him with her embrace. 


	9. Chapter 9 Solace

Chapter 9 Solace  
  
Sigma's Note: I like this chapter. It's got a good dichotomy of action and romance. I wonder if I'm overdoing it with the sap, though. Sometime I have trouble discerning that.  
  
The wooden training room stank of sweat and blood. It was no wonder, as there were no less than thirty fighters siting on the benches around the expansive square arena, nursing their wounds and concussions. A Paladin cradled an arm that was most certainly broken. Two nurses attended to a Defender that had been knocked out cold, wrapping an ice pack around his bruised forehead. It was a veritable massacre.  
  
In the center of the facility, Marche stood panting from exhaustion. His upper body was bare, his numerous scars exposed to the bright sunlight that poured through the open ceiling of the arena. He wore a pair of billowing white pants that gave him total freedom of movement to perform his devastating acrobatic attacks. He clutched a pair of wooden training blades that were hard enough to give an opponent a concussion, but couldn't do any permanent damage. His entire body was drenched with sweat.  
  
To double doors at the end of the Training room opened, and a Bangaa entered. His only clothing was a loincloth and a white sash across his chest. Like Marche, he wore no armor that would soften the blow of the fierce wooden weapons. The Bangaa motioned for the Moogle attendant to throw him a sword. The diminutive creature jumped on a tall stool and removed one of the larger wooden weapons from the shelf. Teetering on the pedestal, it took all his strength to heave the hefty sword to the Warrior. The Bangaa grabbed it with one hand and swung it around a few times to get the feel for it. It was carved from a single piece of Dabunkwood and was extremely hard. A blow to the head would deliver a major concussion.  
  
Marche and the Soldier bowed respectfully and they assumed their individual fighting stances. At least, Marche did. He had been trained by dozens of Martial Arts masters in his numerous times in Ivalice as well as in the real world. He had come to realize that his enemies were becoming stronger and began to prepare accordingly. The end result was that Marche was a lethal fighting machine with almost any part of his body. Unfortunately, the Warrior wasn't aware of this. Seeing the lean human standing before him with only a pair of wooden blades the defend himself had driven the poor fool to overconfidence. He rushed at him with his sword raised over his head, determined to break through his pitiful defensive stance in a single, bone-crushing swing.  
  
Marche easily side stepped the over-powered attack and swept his foot under the confused Bangaa's legs. His momentum combined with his surprise at Marche's dexterity and skill set him of balance and catapulted him into the air. Without resting, Marche lept into the air and delivered a screaming round-house kick to the prone Bangaa's ribs. He let out a guttural "oof" as he was knocked off to the side. The warrior hit the ground hard, sliding several yards from the mind-boggling force of Marche's kick. His head spinning, he slowly brought his eyes into focus, only to see that his assailant had not moved three feet from his original position. He simply stood there, staring him down coldly.  
  
That made his blood boil. He had never faced a human with that kind of skill with his body. The Bangaa felt a twinge of pain in his side. No doubt that kick had cracked on of his ribs. He was determined not to let such a disgrace go unpunished. Struggling to his feet and wincing through the biting pain in his side, the Warrior raised his sword again, preparing for a second run. Marche sighed. He had come to the training gym to try and work of his emotions, but so far it was not proving to be as therapeutic as he had hoped.  
  
Howling like a mad dog, the Warrior rushed in with even more ferocity than before. Marche admired his determination, but pitied his lack of technique. Leaping into the air, the Bangaa prepared to drop Marche in a single, massive attack. But he had other plans. In the blink of an eye, Marche whipped his wooden blades into a defensive position, catching the falling sword before it connected. Marche noted the surprise in the Bangaa's expression. That was soon replaced by anger and then shock again and Marche pushed forwards, throwing the massive lizard back and off guard. He drove a second kick into the Bangaa's scarlet body, this one to his leviathan jaw. There was a loud slap as bare skin struck scales, but all the Bangaa heard was the loud pop of his jaw was dislocated. Before he could react, though, Marche struck with a devastating Scorpion Blow to the head with his right blade. The weapon shattered on impact of the thick bone plating of the Bangaa's scalp, but not before delivering the brunt of its force into his skull. His entire body shook as he reeled for a moment before crumpling to the ground. Of course, he was not dead, but the strength of the Scorpion Blow combined with the strength of the wood would leave him unconscious for several hours.  
  
.....  
  
Ivan stood in amazement at the sight before him. He was in the spectator area of the Training Room, over looking Marche's stunning feats of physical hardening. Strife sat with him as well, likewise astonished at the Soulvetar's skill. He and Ivan were aquatinted from when he first abandoned Archemis's service and the Megalomancers.  
"It's amazing. I have never seen anything like it," Strife said as Marche jumped four feet straight up in the air and knock a Fighter out cold with a flurry of kicks that seemed to mock gravity itself.  
"He's been at it almost since dawn. I've only been here for the last hour, but I've already seen him beat twenty people to a pulp. He's used variations of almost a dozen totally different fighting disciplines. Everything from Jujitsu to Aerial Kali to some sort of Drunken Kung Fu that I've never seen before. I don't know how he could have learned all those skills by his age," Ivan said.  
"He's been through a lot. I've read through his clans files, and I must say that he'd need those skills to take on the tasks that they did. I don't know of any clan that could have done what they did over and over again," the young Judgemaster responded. Marche struck a Defender in the side of the head with his wooden blade, shattering it completely and sending the Defender to the floor. He motioned for a replacement blade as he threw the splintered weapon into the pile of damaged arms that had been rendered useless.  
"I cannot imagine what kind of emotional turmoil he must be experiencing. That's why he's down there, you realize," Ivan said. Strife nodded. "To learn that everyone you've ever known has been wiped from existence, it must be utterly devastating." They sat silently for several minutes whilst Marche blew through combatant after combatant with devilish strength and agility. The sound of splintering wood and cracking bones and the moans of those that lay defeated echoed through the training arena.  
"Archemis is on the move again," Strife said solemnly. "He's wiped out more of our troops to the north. He seems intent on taking Baguba, and by the looks of it, he's going to succeed."  
"If Baguba falls, then he'll have access to the Airship Port. His naval force will be strengthened ten fold. Then we'll never be able to stop him," Ivan pondered.  
  
"Do you know what his plan is?" Strife asked, calling upon Ivan's knowledge of his former commander's tactics.  
"I'm willing to be that he'll dispatch one of the Megalomancers to take the city. His forces are trained for fighting large numbers of enemy soldiers, and are less adept at securing towns. That's what he formed the Megalomancers for. Well, that and Clan warfare. I can't tell you for sure who he'll send, but I have a pretty good idea," Ivan answered. In fact, he knew exactly who Archemis would send out, but he was having trouble bringing himself to accept it. He looked back down to Marche, still fighting like a demon.  
"We'll need him and Ritz to stop Archemis from taking Baguba," Strife said. "None of your forces have the ability to stop a Megalomancer. I've seen them do terrifying things on the battle field. Things I did," Ivan continued. "I can't handle them alone."  
"If that's the plan of attack, then the first order of business is to get Marche out of this self-destructive depression," Strife noted.  
"I think I know a way," Ivan said.  
  
......  
  
The great doors to the training arena creaked open again. Ivan walked through them. He was clothed in a loose fitting gi that would give him the same range of movement as Marche had. A wooden katana hung from his satin belt.  
  
Marche stood in the center of the room again, his back turned to the Black Monk. His breath was long and heavy, but his body did not show any hint of fatigue. He had tapped into some bottomless well of stamina that drove him to fight and fight and keep on fighting until he was completely disconnected from what he now saw as his world. Mirabo's taunting words still rang through his head  
  
"There is no way you can possibly leave Ivalice!" Thinking of his maniacal laughter made his blood boil.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Marche asked the Bangaa. Ivan drew his katana from its sheath. Marche heard the sound of wood running against wood, and prepared himself.  
"Well, then. Have at me!" he snapped. Ivan charged Marche, he feet moving with astonishing speed and grace. Marche had not fought the Black Monk and was momentarily surprised at the speed of his attack. He quickly got over it and noted the technique of Ivan's strike. His wooden katana was held behind him, but not in a sweeping position. Ivan was going for a single piercing attack that would put Marche down in one hit. It if were a real sword, then it be an instant kill.  
  
As the attack drew closer and closer, Ivan began to wonder why Marche still had his back to him. He had only looked over his shoulder once to see his method of attack, but then turned around again, as if he wanted Ivan to strike him with the Black Skill. But it was too late to change his stance, as his momentum carried him straight into the point of no return.  
  
A fraction of a second before the attack connected, Marche lept into the air and somersaulted over Ivan's head, avoiding the blunted tip of the katana. He body spread out in the air as he gracefully sailed over his assailant, landing smoothly on the ground behind Ivan. Immediately he whipped one of he blades against Ivan's neck, stopping a hair short of striking him.  
  
Ivan stood stunned. The Black Skill 3 was supposed to be unavoidable once it entered terminal range. Yet, Marche had moved with acrobatic speed the likes of which the monk had never confronted before.  
"That was quite remarkable. You are the first person I've ever faced who has been able to avoid that attack at such close range," Ivan complemented.  
"That sword is made of wood. It doesn't move as fast as a steel one. If it were real, I would have been skewered," Marche informed him. His face showed no visible emotion as he held the wooden blade against Ivan's neck.  
"Very good," Ivan said, surprised that Marche had the insight to notice a drag so insignificant and exploit it to such a degree. He was not prepared for a fight that challenging.  
  
Viper like, Ivan spun around and launched into an all out assault. The katana swept through the air with a clearly audible sound, clanking against Marche's blades that he held to defend himself. But he wielded them with such dexterity that Ivan's attacks were negated almost from the moment they were launched. His mind saw the movement of the katana before it struck and swung his weapons at just the perfect angle so as to redirect the force of the swing and knock Ivan off balance a little each time. By the time Ivan realized that he had fallen into a trap, it was too late. One final strike and one final block, and Ivan stumbled. As he fell to the ground, his face met Marche's foot rising to kick him square between the eyes.  
  
In a miraculous display of mind over matter, Marche's foot withstood the impact of the Bangaa's thick skull, and sent Ivan flying through the air at least 15 feet across the room. Ivan hit the ground at a tremendous velocity, his muscular body cracking the wooden slats upon impact.  
"That was pathetic. I'm beginning to wonder how you managed to cut a meteor into gravel it you can't even hit me once," Marche said. His voice was stained with distaste. His training session was not proving to be as therapeutic as he had hoped it would.  
"Marche, you need to stop this," Ivan said as he struggled back to his feet. He noticed a small stream of blood dripping from his long jaw. "I know you're here to try and find some kind of solace, to escape whatever mental hell you must be in. But there are people in this world that need you. They need this ferocity, this power that you're venting." Marche turned his back on Ivan again.  
"You have no idea, do you? To lose an entire world? To lose everyone you've ever known? How can you tell me how to feel?" he snapped angrily. "Now go. You're wasting my time." Ivan managed to get to his feet, but had accepted the futility of his actions. He didn't have the skill to beat Marche, and he knew that was likely to only way to bring him back from the dangerous precipice that he was teetering on.  
"Fine. I'll go." Ivan walked towards the door, returning the wooden katana to his belt. As he passed the Soulvetar, the two of them locked eye.  
  
"One more, thing," he said as his fiery red glare met Marche's icy gaze. "You can't keep running from this anymore than I could. I came to terms with my life. Can you?" Marche was stone faced as Ivan passed him, preparing to open the double doors that led out of the arena. But before he could, they swung open on their own accord. Soft footsteps echoed through the corridor beyond them. A figure, lean and feminine appeared in the dimly lit hallway. It was Ritz  
  
In her right hand she carried a wooden rapier that had been carved from flexible terriwood so that it would bend in the same manner as her Vent de Dieu but would retain its strength. Like Marche, she was unamored, clothed only in a similar pair of billowing white slacks and a band of cloth that streched across her breasts. Her upper body was sharp and toned and exhibited the same scars as Marche's. Her crimson hair fell down her back like a ruby waterfall.  
"I'll take it from here," she said to Ivan. The monk nodded as he walked through the doors. The shut behind him.  
  
The arena had already been cleared of all the people that Marche defeated, and it was only him and Ritz in the center of the expansive chamber. Strife looked down at the two warriors, and decided that they needed to be alone for this. He calmly stood up and exited the viewing area to go meet up with Ivan in the infirmary. So Ritz and Marche were truly alone.  
  
For what seemed like an eternity, they were content to stare each other down, not moving a muscle. Marche had been training for several hours already, but his body refused to quit, and was easily on par with Ritz.  
"I suppose you're here to show your sympathy," Marche said.  
"Unlike Ivan, I DO know what you're going through. Because I'm going through it too," Ritz responded. Marche did not answer, but he did assume a defensive position. The nature of their respective weapons would lead to Ritz leading the attack, with her superior range. She and Marche had never fought like that before, and they both did not know what to expect.  
"I don't want to hurt you, Ritz."  
"What hurts me is seeing you like this. Trying to fight your way through your feelings alone," Ritz said kindly, at the same time raising her rapier. She recognized Marche's stance and knew that the first move was hers,  
"I'm not going to go easy on you," Marche said.  
"I don't expect you to," she said as she launched directly into the attack. The wooden blades lunged toward Marche, it's blunt time lancing towards his defenses with perfect accuracy. Marche countered with a perfect block, clasping the rapier between his two blades. Their first stalemate. Ritz could not penetrate Marche's crossed blades, but Marche could not break the cross to attack, lest he would be struck.  
"Why are you doing this?" Marche asked, grunting against the force of the rapier bearing down on him.  
"Because I care about you. I don't want to see you just breakdown like this," Ritz answered as she lept back, breaking the stalemate with her retreat. She lunged again, this time aiming at Marche's shoulder instead of his chest. That way he would have to rearrange his body to use his cross block again, and he didn't have room. Marche parried Ritz's attack, which was met with another that was also blocked. But she didn't give up, and instead thrusted her blade again and again, with perfect force and aim. Each one was blocked, but Marche found that he was unable to draw her into a vulnerable position like he did with Ivan. Ritz maintained her focus and balance with the zen-like calm of the Viera.  
  
With his defensive strategy nullified, Marche realized that he would have to take the offensive, a dangerous move to make when Ritz had a range advantage. He blocked a strike and used use the force from the blow to spin him around and bring his left blade down on Ritz in a cutting motion. The spin brought him well into attack range. But Ritz was no amateur. Her skills surpassed that of even Ivan, and she was motivated. She was trying to save Marche from himself. She swung her rapier against the falling blade, causing a cataclysmic knocking sound as the hard woods met each other. Both felt the force of the confrontation flowing through their bodies like a tremor shaking a building to its foundations. They continued steadfast though, and reached another stalemate.  
"Do you really think that you're the only person who lost loved ones?" Ritz said as Marche broke the stalemate with his retreat, followed by his immediate retaliation in a blur of slashing blades.  
"You've always hated the real world, and you know it," Marche said, frustrated that Ritz had managed to counter his barrage with her slender weapon.  
"I hated the world, but that doesn't mean I didn't have people I cared about there. I had a family too you know! Did you know that?" Marche was silent, and responded only with his blades. "I cried for hours that night that you me about what happened! My mother, my father, my friends, all dead!" Ritz had whipped herself into a fervor, making more and more aggressive moves in response to Marche's growing offensive. The odor of each other's sweat filled the air, and sensing their bodies only led to the heat of their combat increasing. It was as if the air around them had burst into a raging hellfire merely from the passion of their conflict.  
  
Suddenly, both of them slipped. For a fraction of a second, they had become distracted with their own internal battles and had their defenses failed. In the blink of an eye, Marche and Ritz found the faces mere inches away from each other, their weapons pressed against each other's necks. They had not struck at full power, but had reached the ultimate impasse. Each of them could feel the heat of bare skin pressed against their own.  
"Do you know what got me through it?" Ritz asked quietly, looking deep into Marche's troubled eyes. It was not the tacit stare of a warrior. They were the sad eyes of a man in pain. "I realized something. That I could lose everyone I've ever known and be left out in the cold, but as long...as I had you, everything would be all right. You asked me in Lutia to never leave. Now I'm asking you the same. Because the only thing that keeps me together is that you're here."  
"Ritz..." Marche said, but could not find any words to say. That epiphany struck him like a load of bricks. Suddenly, his mind was flawlessly open.  
  
They both dropped their weapons as they were engrossed in a passionate kiss. Marche took in the full sensation of the woman that he loved, from the softness of her skin to the scent of her perfume masking her sweat drenched body. All that he could feel and think of was her, his heart in flames. As Marche lost himself in Ritz's lips, it became fully clear that he had finally found his solace.  
  
Somewhere in the north......  
  
"Lord Archemis, our forces are prepared to take Baguba. In another two days, the enemy lines will be breached and we can move in."  
"Excellent, Sagaro. I trust that our losses have been negligible?"  
"Indeed, especially when compared to the damage that has been dealt by out troops."  
"Has Raphael arrived as well?"  
"He is well on his way."  
"Good, but I also want you to send Kreiger as well."  
"The Destroyer? That seems a little unnecessary, Lord Archemis. Raphael is perfectly capable of securing Baguba by himself."  
"I do not share your confidence. I do not believe that Raphael will be able to fulfill his duties in the presence of the Black Monk. Send Kreiger to make sure that it is done right."  
"Of course, Lord Archemis 


	10. Chapter 10 Prince

Chapter 10 Prince  
  
Sigma's Note: The next two chapters are some of the most pivotal parts of the entire story. They are simply sopping with action and drama, though this chapter is somewhat short. Sorry it took so long, but I hit a particularly devastating lazy streak.  
  
This is also the first of the "Zeppelin Chapters", which means that I blasted my brain out with Led Zeppelin to get the mood right. The selected song for "Prince" is "Achilles' Last Stand". I'm planning on several more.  
  
Baguba Port.....  
  
"Ha ha ha ha!" laughed the heavily armored Dragoon as he lept through the panic stricken streets of Baguba. People ran screaming in all directions as he landed with a thunderous thud from his powerful Jump attack. He brandished a lethal Kain's Lance, it's broad, steel head glistening with blood in the waning twilight. Raphael the Prince took immense, sadistic pleasure in causing such havoc. It was the only thing that fulfilled his life, as though he was a gothic connoisseur of bloodshed. The heavy black helmet clicked open as Raphael let out a searing stream of fire from his saurian jaws. It flowed like a hellish river as it washed over several unfortunate people who had not fled that particular street in time. Their bodies were immediately overtaken by the ravenous flame, leaving behind only charred flesh. The inferno lept up walls and poured into buildings, conjuring up echoing screams as the inhabitants of the city were consumed by the Dragoon's flame.  
  
Raphael Jumped high into the sky again, looking down as Baguba began to shrink into the insignificant cinder that it was. As long as the airship port remained intact, Archemis had given Raphael full reign over the town to satisfy his fetish for destruction. To the north, he could see Archemis's vast military, waiting for him to complete his mission. Having slain all the soldiers left in the city, all that remained was for them to march and take over. But he was having too much fun causing chaos that he had not yet given the order to invade.  
  
He pointed his mighty spear to the ground and directed his fall into a single house that he had seen a family of three run into when he first arrived. A mother and two children. He would savor their deaths like a fine wine. He felt the wind rush past him as his velocity increased, his body becoming as a bolt of lightning arcing towards his target. He could already taste their fear as he would snuff out their lives like candles in a tempest.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Raphael caught a black figure rising to meet him. It moved with incredible speed, and struck with equal force. He quickly raised his spear to block the flashing glint of a katana. He succeeded, but it knocked him off course and killed his velocity. As he landed on the roof of a building, he glared poisonously at the intruder who had intercepted his attack.  
  
Ivan landed on a roof across from Raphael. He katana was sheathed as he confronted the one person that he had least wanted to see.  
"Marche! Ritz!" he yelled to the two in the street below. "I'll handle the Megalomancer! You evacuate the city!" They nodded in affirmation as they headed into the streets to try and save the poor souls that had come under Raphael's attack.  
  
"Raphael!" Ivan yelled at the Dragoon.  
"Ivan!" he responded with a sort of half laugh. "I didn't expect to find my dear little brother here!"  
"Stop this now, Raphael. These people are innocents. They don't deserve this!" Ivan tried to reason with his bloodthirsty sibling.  
"Last time I heard of you, you had walled yourself up in some monastery in Lutia. I'm glad to see that you decided to take up your sword again. I knew that you would never be able to truly bleed out all the violent blood that I know still courses through your veins. But why would you choose to turn your hostilities towards your kin?" asked Raphael. He was uncertain whether to be happy to see his brother or to be angry that he had interrupted his massacre.  
"I'm repenting for my deeds under that evil man. And part of that includes stopping him from spilling any more innocent blood," Ivan said solemnly. Raphael had always been one of Archemis's right hand men. He was the one who introduced Ivan to Archemis, and brought him into the fold of the Megalomancers. Needless to say, Ivan felt that they had a score to settle.  
"I don't see why you should feel the need to repent. You did your part to bring a glorious new age to this corrupt world. You where Ivan the Purger, the ruiner of those the ruined this world."  
"That life is gone. Ivan the Purger has died, and only I remain."  
"That's a shame, since only Purger would have the ability to stop me!" Raphael shouted angrily as he charged, spear outstretched. Ivan drew his Petal chaser fiercely, knocking away the blow. A hostile clang echoed through the evening air as the metal weapons struck each other, the impact resonating through their blades. Raphael lunged again and again, the blood stained tip of his Lance seeming to lash out like a serpent to cut into Ivan's red flesh. But he was prepared, and met his brother blow for blow, blocking and striking with the focus of years of meditation. All the training that he had put towards slaying the innocent all poured from his body in a twister of steel.  
  
Ivan lept into the air, calling upon the powers of the ancient skills that he had learned in the monastery. His muscular body contorted unnaturally in the air, as the Black Skill defied gravity, allowing him to slash and thrust again and again in midair. Raphael laughed haughtily as he blocked each of the aerial blows with his spinning lance. Finally Ivan landed on the ground gracefully, panting. The Dragoon, on the other hand, seemed unfazed.  
"I was very disappointed in you, Ivan, when I heard that you had left the service of Lord Archemis. I almost sought you out to kill you with my bare hands, but for whatever reason, Lord Archemis decided to show you leniency. I did, however, go out and kill a dozen or so people to vent my anger," Raphael said as he retrieved a cloth from his belt that he used to wipe down the blood slicked head of his spear. Once clean, it shone with a cruel glint.  
"You monster!" Ivan yelled as he launched into a second attack, this one even more ferocious than the first. Sparks exploded from their clashing weapons as the razor thin edge of the Petal Chaser met the heavy metal rod that supported the spear's massive head. He attacked relentlessly, delivering blow after blow with absolute accuracy, and each one blocked by a skilled maneuver by his sadistic brother.  
"Yes Ivan! Let that demon blood I know you still carry flow though you! Let it coarse through your veins like a violent river, pouring directly from your soul onto to the edge of that magnificent sword of yours!" Raphael laughed wildly as the speed of the fight picked up, the shower of sparks bursting from the weapons turning into a constant downpour of metal fire. Ivan lept into the air and unleashed his third Black Skill. With the speed of a ravenous scorpion, a single lunge of the sword blasted towards Raphael's head. At such close range, the attack could not possible fail.  
  
Much to Ivan's surprise, though, Raphael lept straight up into the sky the instant before the attack would have buried the steel tip of the katana deep in his warped brain. Without a target, the black skill drove Ivan into the tiles of the roof. Such was the force of the attack that it shattered a crater of tiles five feet in diameter. Ivan pulled his weapon out of the debri before a vicious bolt of lightning fell from the sky and conjured up a mighty explosion as it struck the roof where Ivan had been standing a fraction of a second before.  
  
Raphael landed with his helmet still open, his jaws crackling with electricity and his own diabolical laughter. A second thunderous flow emanated issued from his mouth, covering the rooftop with golden serpents of energy that arched over all surfaces. There was a audible crackling sound in the air.  
"Dear brother, don't toy with yourself. You know that you have no chance of killing me as long as you deny your true nature!" he called into the air, where Ivan was descending after narrowly avoiding becoming a blackened cinder. He landed, revealing that his katana was glowing with diabolical energy in the form of a sinister cloud. His eyes had taken on a different appearance all together, one that was bled of all compassion.  
"Oh, and when did this happen? When did Ivan the Purger return?" Raphael said inquisitively as he looked deep into Ivan's eyes. He didn't respond, he merely raised his Petal Chaser high into the air, dark energy swirling around it like a newly born tornado.  
"What kind of attack is this?" Raphael was unfamiliar with the techniques that Ivan had honed while at the monastery. It would prove to be a grave failure on his part. The Black Monk looked up at the venomous tip of his curved weapon. Suddenly, like a smithy driving his hammer into his anvil, Ivan struck the ground with his Katana, unleashing his tormented fury into the clay roofing. Immediately, a hail of ceramic splinters filled the air, propelled by the rising bursts of dark energy flowing from the cross shaped gash that had been carved into the building by the Dark Quake. Not prepared for the attack, Raphael was over taken by it, the dark magic overcame him, swirling around his body and slicing into his armor with its corrosive grip. Raphael shouted in shock and pain as it burst through his armor, cutting into his tough red skin. The dark horizon continued to expand until it swallowed the Dragoon entirely in its dark maw.  
  
As it cleared, Ivan simply stared into it emotionlessly. Once the darkness had faded, Raphael could be seen still standing, though quite clearly shaken and injured by the Dark Quake. Several pieces of his armor had fallen off and what as left had been heavily damaged.  
"I've had just about enough of this, Ivan. As much as I've enjoyed this reunion, I also have orders from Lord Archemis himself to take this city. And I intend to do it even if I have to break you in half!" He charged Ivan again, he spear prepared to pierce Ivan through the chest. But he had underestimated the power of Ivan's darker personality. He swatted the blow away with his sheath, an unexpected move that left Raphael prone to an attack from Ivan's katana. Realizing his mistake, Raphael used his powerful jumping ability to leap into the air before the attack could be driven home. But this time, instead of waiting for him to return to the ground, Ivan pursued him, using his equally adept jumping power to meet him in mid air.  
  
Sword and spear crashed as Ivan and Raphael did battle in the skies, jumping from building to building, roof to roof, each time engaging at the apex of their leaps, knocking each other away only to be brought to the same confrontation seconds later. Neither of them tired as their soared into the darkening sky, the sounds of their weapons striking each other ringing through the city.  
  
Finally, the two landed on the streets, panting for breath. Like a final showdown, the brothers were determined to make the next attack decisive. Their muscles tensed as their hands tightened around their weapons.  
  
Before either of them could launch an attack, a ferocious wind sliced through the middle of the street. A cloud of dust obscured both combatants. The explosive sound of the air expanding reverberated through Ivan's skull, snapping him out of his blood- lusting trance. He stumbled for a moment, as if recovering from a dream.  
  
The dust cleared, revealing the cause of the attack. On opposite ends of the street, Ritz and Marche stood, weapons draw. Ritz's was humming melodically from the Tear attack she had unleashed to prevent Ivan and Raphael from killing themselves.  
"Ivan! We've evacuated the city! Now we can help you stop this guy!" Marche called. Raphael ground his teeth together. He was having a hard enough time dealing with his brother, much less having to take on two more warriors of possibly superior strength.  
"Thank you my friends," Ivan said. It took him a moment to realize what had happened, that he had somehow tapped into his Megalomancer persona. It had always been a constant pull on his psyche, like a little murderous voice in the back of his mind wanting to take control of his body.  
  
Raphael was beginning to sweat. He contemplated using his ultimate attack, but was worried what might happen to him if he did so. It wasn't supposed to happen like this... he thought. It looks like I'm fresh out of options....  
  
As if on cue, a thunderous rocking overtook the area. It was a tremendous quake, causing windows to explode outwards in a shower of glass splinters and wide fissures to run up the sides of buildings. The four warriors stood in confusion for a moment, but the unmistakable sensation of a immense force bearing down on them soon prompted them to action.  
"Move!" Ivan cried out as he jumped into the air. His brother did the same as Marche and Ritz were forced to take to the ground and sprint out of the impending danger zone. Seconds later, like a tidal wave, a great wall of pure white energy rampaged through the city, vaporizing everything it touched with its unstoppable power. It spread out in an unmistakable cross shape, spreading its destructive force in four directions.  
  
As the brilliance of the Saint Cross faded, raging fires took its place. Baguba was burning to the ground. And from within the flaming ruins of the port, a massive figure appeared, his huge frame obscured by the inky black columns of smoke pouring from the crucifix shaped crater.  
"I regret to inform you," the figure spoke ominously, "that you are all dead." 


	11. Chapter 11 Destroyer

Chapter 11   
Destroyer  
  
Sigma's Note: Several things to say.  
  
First of all, have you ever burst out in a fit of maniacal laughter in the middle writing? Because I did here. Secondly, this may be the most pivotal chapter in the story. Also, I wrote it to Zeppelin's "Four Sticks". That really helped my get the mood going. Thirdly, I'd like to say to apologize to anyone that is somewhat confused by my vocabulary choice. I don't use words like epiphany to seem superior or smarter than I really am. That's just how my brain works. Plus, epiphany just seemed to...fit. But I believe that my work speaks for itself.  
  
So, without further ado....  
  
"Raphael Eranov!" yelled the imposing figure behind the smoke screen created by the colossal energy wave that wiped out half the city. "I'm here to relieve you of duty!"  
"Kreiger! What are you doing here?" Raphael snapped, fear easily detected on his raspy voice. The Paladin stepped forward, his armor laden body about to emerge from the inky black curtain.  
"Lord Archemis did not believe that you would have the mental fortitude to do your duty without hesitation in the presence of the Monk. It looks like he was correct, seeing as the traitor is still standing," he said, raising his massive sword to pierce the soot cloud. It glimmered with the golden light of an Excalibur wielded by an immensely skilled knight. "You are to return to Ironheim immediately to be reprimanded. You should be grateful that I don't kill you right here and now, but Archemis doesn't want you dead just yet. No go!"  
  
Raphael growled and lept up to the roof of one of the remaining buildings, his gaze virtually saturated with poisonous intent. He pointed his spear at Ivan.  
"Make no mistake. If Kreiger doesn't kill you, I will," he said before leaping high into the air and out of sight. The shadow of the Paladin looked up to see the Dragoon sail into the horizon before returning his attention back to Marche, Ritz and Ivan. He began to walk again, his enormous seven foot frame slowly passing through the wall of smoke before him.  
"I am Kreiger the Destroyer, and the Fifth Megalomancer," he said as his full body became visible. He was huge and muscular, and covered from head to toe in heavy silver armor. He wore no helmet, his short cropped brown hair making the fierce features of his face even more striking. A long scar ran down his left cheek that also donned a red eye patch over one eye. At his waist, a second scabbard became apparent, this one holding yet another Excalibur. At that point, Ritz and Marche knew that things were not going to go well.  
  
Ivan, on the other hand, was entirely aware of the danger they had all been emersed in. Kreiger was Archemis's third in command, next to Sagaro on the executive ladder of his empire. He had seen Kreiger destroy entire cities with a single swipe of his sword, laughing the whole time. He was visibly shaking, but he restrained himself. He knew he mustn't appear weak to the Destroyer.  
Kreiger drew his second Excalibur. Despite the massive weight of both swords, the Megalomancer held them both like they were bamboo training swords. He wore a confident smirk. The three fighters assumed defensive positions.  
"Our original purpose was to capture the port, but Lord Archemis's will has drastically shifted upon hearing of your sojourn here to stop us. It would appear that you three are more of a thorn in Lord Archemis's side that realize. You've been tearing through our ranks far too easily, and now I'm going to put a stop to it," he said, drawing one sword behind him and removing the second from its hilt, holding it pointed towards the three in threatening manner. His face twitched noticeably as an immense surge of power washed over his body and poured into the weapon he held behind him. A bright white light flushed over the gilded blade.  
"Move!" Ivan yelled again. He lept into the air as Marche and Ritz scattered to the side. Kreiger swept the glowing Excalibur forward, releasing the massive wave of pent up energy. The ground before him exploded in a pearly white fury that tore through the streets like a shark tearing through a calm sea. Even more buildings vanished before the oppressive force of the Paladin's Holy Sword. Ivan looked down at the massive scar that the attack had carved into Baguba. Immediately, he aimed his Katana downwards as he fell towards the antagonist, prepared to deliver a powerful diving blow. It had begun.  
  
Kreiger did not plan on being felled by a single attack from a traitor. He raised his second knight sword and knocked Ivan away harshly before the attack could find its mark. Ivan landed on his feet, though dazed by the incredible shock of the Paladin's strike. It felt as if every bone in his body was vibrating, as was his Petal Chaser, emitting a sorrowful wail. He charged again and struck with a lunging attack aimed directly at Kreiger's icy heart. Without even flinching, he stepped forward and parried the blow with all his body weight behind him. So great was the impact upon Ivan's Katana that it actually drove Ivan's feet several inches into the hard beaten dirt of the Baguba street. With his second sword, and Ivan off guard, he prepared to remove his head in a single clean strike.  
  
In a flash, Marche appeared. Kreiger's eyes twitched momentarily at the speed of the Soulvetar, who hurled himself before the Black Monk and blocked the powerhouse blow with his Paradox Blades crossed. Kreiger swung with his second sword but Marche stopped that attack cold as well. Kreiger was surprise, but also somewhat pleased in a grim sort of way. He was not expecting a challenge.  
  
Then Ritz entered the fray. She jumped through the air and attempted to carve a large slice out of Kreiger's armor with the razor tip of the Vent de Dieu. He caught her cat like movements out of the corner of his eye, and momentarily took his attention away from Marche and Ivan to knock the elegant blade of the Rapier back and to bound to the top of one of the intact buildings, an impressive display of strength for someone so enormous and armor-laden.  
"He's strong!" Marche said as Kreiger landed with a loud crash on the clay roof.  
"He is the Destroyer of Worlds and the Bane of Men. Kreiger's one of the most feared of the Megalomancers. We must be very cautious," Ivan said as he regained his composure. He was concerned with the condition of his Petal Chaser. His fight against his brother was more intense that he would have liked, and Kreiger would be no merciful foe either. He could still feel the tempered steel of the katana humming painfully, as though it itself had been mortally wounded.  
"Let's go!" Ritz shouted as the three of them launched into a simultaneous assault on the Destroyer. Kreiger smiled haughtily as his muscles tightened around the handles of his Excaliburs. He lived destruction and the nirvana like state that the cries of thousands of mortals falling into the abyss granted him. He bore his teeth as the three attacked.  
  
Kreiger's skill was much more than any of them had anticipated, even Ivan. He golden swords sliced through the air like they were mere feathers, parrying and striking with incomprehensible speed. As quickly as they attacked, Marche, Ritz and Ivan found themselves of the defensive as Kreiger lashed out at all three at once. In an almost supernatural motion, the Excaliburs struck their respective weapons with demon like ferocity, the force of each blow felt through their entire bodies. Sparks flew through the smoke filled air as steel met steel. Marche vaulted through the air and stabbed at Kreiger's exposed head as Ritz lunged towards his vitals and Ivan's katana swept through the air like bolt of lightning. Each attack was met either by a narrow evasion or the hard edge of an Excalibur. Suddenly, the Paladin swung his fist and connected with Marche's face, knocking him off his feet and to the street below. This distracted Ritz for the fraction of a second that Kreiger needed to drive his sword towards her slender neck. Ritz caught it at the last second and raised her rapier to block it. But it was a sloppy guard and the force of the blow also knocked her from the roof top. In mere seconds, Ivan found himself alone with the Destroyer.  
  
Ivan tried to attack with his Petal Chaser, but Kreiger unexpectantly grabbed his skull with his massive gauntlet and held him into the air. The nature of the attack surprised Ivan and he hesitated for a moment, giving Kreiger enough time to slam him into the roof, and causing him to loose his grip on his precious sword. Smiling devilishly, Kreiger pushed Ivan deeper and deeper into the clay tiles, until he was well embedded in the roof. He maintained his crushing grip on Ivan head the whole time.  
"Goodbye, traitor!" he barked as he a bone crushing rush of wind drove Ivan through the roof and into the building below. Ivan cried out in agony as the Air Render attack smashed him into the much harder floor of the restaurant that they had been fighting on, breaking at least a dozen bones. The pressure continued to increase, however. He could feel blood vessels all over his body begin to burst from the overwhelming pressure. He is vision became clouded with a red fog as the pain increased until the image of Kreiger standing high above him faded away.  
Kreiger's triumph was short lived, however, as his arrogant laughter was met by a raging stream of fire from Marche's outstretched arm. He tried to hold of the attack but the unrelenting force of the Dante attack picked him and huled him into an adjacent building, he crashed through the wall and traveled well into the building before the attack dissipated and he was left crumpled against the wall, smoldering.  
  
Marche and Ritz jumped to the top of the building from which Kreiger had been dispatched. Ritz noticed the large hole made by the Paladin's Air Render. Peering down into it, she quickly winced and looked away upon seeing Ivan's broken and bloody body.  
"It's Ivan!" she cried out to Marche. The Soulvetar jumped down into the ruined restaurant and set next to the Black Monk. He was in very poor shape, with several broken bones easily visible and blood leaking from his ears. Marche quickly felt around his bulky neck for a pulse. He sighed in relief as he felt the weak but resilient pumping of Ivan's jugular vein. He was alive, but unconscious and badly beaten.  
  
Marche returned to the roof top and rejoined Ritz.  
"He's alive, but he's out cold. We better get him to a hospital fast, though," he said.  
"I think we have other things to worry about right now," Ritz said, as she pointed her rapier to the ground. The shards of clay and stone that had been dislodged from the roof were beginning to shake and bounce rapidly as the building itself began to vibrate from the rumbling of a distant force bearing down on them. They turned around to see the source of the quaking. Rising from a pile of rumble that coursed with energy and had been the building which Kreiger had been thrown into, the dark Paladin stood, both of his Excaliburs raised and throbbing with power. Even from several hundred yards back, Ritz and Marche could feel the electricity in the air as Kreiger prepared to unleash his ultimate attack.  
"Now die!" he shouted, his voice booming like the roar of a lion. His armor had been damaged and knocked off, revealing his bulging biceps. Massive veins in his arms pumped rapidly as he swept his dual weapons forward, determined to wipe of his enemies in a single, catastrophic attack of holy energy.  
  
Like a volcano of pure white energy, the Saint Cross exploded up from the ground with a tremendous blast. The magnitude of the sound was so great that it alone caused the buildings around the attack's epicenter to crumble to dust. In seconds, the center of Baguba Port was reduced to ashes, leaving a gargantuan, cross shaped crater from which issued forth a sky high tower of pearly white devastation that seemed to strike at the heart of the heavens themselves.  
  
Kreiger stood laughing among the rubble as his attack died down and the dust parted. No living thing could have survived that attack. He was on the verge of congratulating himself when he sense the most insignificant point of energy in the middle of blast zone.  
"It's....not possible!" he exclaimed as he began to make out a small sphere of magic sitting complacently in the crater. Marche's Magic Wall. He calmly stood in the center of the glowing blue force field, his arm out stretched and Ritz standing behind him. They were completely unharmed. Marche lowered his Magic Wall while Kreiger was too shocked to respond. He drew his Paradox Blades that he had sheathed to cast the Magic Wall.  
"It's over!" he barked, at which he and Ritz launched into a furious attack directly at the Destroyer. He recovered from the shock of his ultimate attack failing in time to prepare himself for the onslaught and regain some of his wounded arrogance.  
"Insolent dogs!" he shouted as he met their attacks head on.  
  
Marche struck with both blades simultaneously, slashing again and again, not at Kreiger, but at his Excalibur. Knowing that their previous attacks on the Paladin had failed, he decided to try and attack the Excalibur itself and try to knock him down from the force of his swings rather than to try and kill him directly. Each of Kreiger's blocks was followed by a dozens punishing blows to the tempered steel sword, until the blade itself began to shriek from the stress. Finally, Marche knocked the sword out of his hand and into the ground several yards away. Instinctively, Kreiger used his second blade to try and defend himself from the Soulvetar, and made the fateful mistake of ignoring the other half of the team.  
  
Ritz had been content with lunging at Kreiger with her rapier before, but was growing frustrated and concerned as her attacks were so easily blocked. But when she felt the vibrations of Marche's crushing blades against the Excalibur carried through Kreiger's body, she saw her chance. As he swung that second Excalibur towards the blonde haired devil, he left himself wide open to Ritz. Before he could make his attack on Marche, Ritz lept under his massive frame and drove her Vent de Dieu straight into the center of his silver armor and into his dark heart.  
  
For what seemed like an eternity, nothing happened. All three of them were frozen in place, Marche prepared to block Kreiger's attack, Ritz with her rapier stuck in the Paladin's chest and Kreiger with a look of terminal shock in his eyes. Then, slowly, Kreiger raised his right arm and pointed it at Marche. Suddenly, he flicked his wrist and sent him hurtling backwards with an Air Render at least 100 yards. At the same time, he delivered a screaming kick directly to Ritz's face, relieving her of her grip on the Vent de Dieu and also knocking her back. All the while, the long, shimmering rapier remained firmly lodged in Kreiger's chest.  
  
Kreiger looked down at the large metal blade that appeared to be stuck in his body. He grinned evilly and with one quick motion he pulled it out of his armor and hurled to the ground. There wasn't a drop of blood on it.  
"Now do you see that it's pointless to try and strike me down?" he asked Ritz, who had begun to rise from the ground after being jarred from having Kreiger's boot in her face. She felt her jaw, but nothing seemed to be broken, though a trickle of blood began to run down her lip. She stared wide eyed at the gaping hole in her enemy's chest. But she did not see flesh and bone and blood. Instead, there was a bright and shining crystal in the center of his upper torso. It was a deep blue and had a strange blood red symbol carved into it.  
"What kind of monster are you?" she asked between pants.  
"I am a man, just like that boy that is lying on the ground over there. However, I am a far superior man than he is. All thanks to this," he said, gesturing to the gem within his body. "It is a shard of the Alpha Stone."  
"The Alpha Stone?" Ritz asked.  
"It is the source of Infinite power that Lord Archemis harnessed. I have a shard where my heart once was. Pious also had a less refined fragment, as you likely recall." Ritz suddenly remembered the jewel in the center of the Preacher's Cross that had summoned the giant Bomb.  
"As long as I have this crystalline heart within me, my power is all but absolute. You never stood a chance." Ritz was speechless. She was also fatigued, whereas Kreiger appeared to be as strong as ever. She was without her weapon that lay at his feet and without the defender that she loved so much. Her entire world was coming to an end, and she knew it.  
"You're not going to get away with this..." she growled.  
"Are you planning on stopping me!?" Kreiger yelled as charged Ritz. In the blink of an eye, he was upon her. He raised his Excalibur high, and brought it down across Ritz's chest. Her face was frozen in a final look of shock as the blade tore a massive gash across her torso. A fountain of blood erupted from the chasmous wound as she slowly fell to the ground, instantly dead. She hit the ground in an already large pool of her own blood.  
"NO!!" Marche cried from 100 yards away. He had recovered in just enough time to see the attack and Ritz's body falling to the ground. At that point, something in his brain clicked. Everything froze and fell into a dream like state. He could see himself and the shock on his face. He could see the woman he loved lying in her a growing pool of her own blood, her body crushed and broken. And he could see Kreiger's face, his arrogant laughter. The images began to spin in his mind like a gale of horror as Marche felt the unstoppable force that had come over him at Dorsa and Lutia. But this time he welcomed it.  
"KREIGER!" he shouted like it was a curse word. He jerked his hand up and instantly created a Chaos Bomb that he immediately launched at his target. It shot across the ruins of Baguba like a bullet. With barely enough time to react, Kreiger swung his remaining Excalibur like a baseball bat, trying to deflect the Black Hole away from him. With a thunderous sound, he succeeded, knocking the devastating attack straight up into the air, imploded on itself. The second that Kreiger looked down, he saw Marche a foot away from his body, his Paradox Blades charged with the power of the Prima Cross. He tried to parry it with his Excalibur, but he drastically underestimated the power of Prima magic. The blades struck and instantly shattered the Knight Sword. The shock ran up his armed and instantaneously vaporized it up the shoulder. Kreiger shrieked in pain as he was launched into another building, crimson fluid pumping out of his shoulder.  
  
Marche ran over to Ritz's body. He removed the Phoenix Down that he remembered to bring with him. Just as Ritz did for him at the Jagd, he placed it on her blood soaked chest and prayed that it would work. The feather of the legendary bird glowed briefly, but much to Marche's surprise, then turned to stone and crumbled into ashes. It failed, and Ritz was dead. Marche could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to over power the unbridled rage he felt towards Kreiger.  
"Nothing can survive the power of the Alpha Stone!" Kreiger laughed maniacally. Minus one Excalibur and one arm, he clutched his wound as he scrambled to recover the sword that Marche had knocked from his hand. He grabbed it and held it up high.  
"BUT IF YOU LOVE HER SO MUCH, THEN YOU CAN GO TO HELL WITH HER!" he screamed to the heavens as he drove the Excalibur into the ground. "I'LL REDUCE THIS WORTHLESS CITY TO ASHES, AND YOU WITH IT!" The blade cracked the hard earth and from it came a sphere of holy white energy that began to grow rapidly, threatening to engulf everything around it.  
  
Marche turned to face the wall of white approaching him. He quickly fired up his Prima Cross to strike the finishing blow.  
"The second that Ritz's blood touched the ground, you're fate was sealed," he said coldly as he hurled himself into the burning oblivion.  
"What! No! You can't do that!" Kreiger said as he saw the power of the Prima Cross cutting through his Saint Cross. "What kind of Demon are you?!" Those were his final words, before the Prima energy struck him directly in the chest, and more specifically, directly on the shard of the all powerful crystal. It shattered on impact and Kreiger's entire body immediately burst into a thousand pieces under the overwhelming power of the blades and Marche's own fury.  
  
Without Kreiger controlling it, the Saint Cross vanished quickly, leaving only a large crater in the burning ruins of Baguba. Marche stood the middle, breathing heavily. There was nothing left Kreiger or of the Alpha Stone he bore within his body.  
  
Drained of all energy, Marche slowly limped back to Ritz's body. Night had finally come, but the moon was obscured by the heavy clouds that had overtaken the sky. Marche could feel the droplets of rain hitting his face. It was all over. As he stood over the girl's body, he couldn't help but stare into her lifeless eyes. He prayed that it was all a dream that he would be able to wake up from, but his wounds spoke otherwise. Finally, unable to hold himself up any longer, he collapsed to the ground, sobbing over Ritz's body. 


	12. Chapter 12 Sorrow

Chapter 12  
  
Sorrow  
  
Sigma's Note: Anybody who didn't see the last chapter coming clearly hasn't paid much attention to my writing style. Not that I intend to kill off EVERYONE. I only employ sudden and dramatic death when it furthers the plot.  
  
Does it make me a bad person to laugh when I kill off a character? Because I did. And I love it when my reviews turn into a river of flame. I use them to warm my house. It's cheaper than oil.  
  
And one final thing, I decided to change my spacing slightly. It should make it easier to read.  
  
Ivan's eyes slowly opened as his body was thrown from blissful unconsciousness into a world of hurt. He could quite clearly feel each of the numerous broken bones and open wounds, the blood from which had begun to coagulate. He was glad that Bangaa bodies where so resilient to damage. If he were human, then he would have definitely been dead.  
  
Using the empty sheath that held his Petal Chaser, he pulled himself up from the pile of rubble that he lay in. That act tore open some of his wound, and he groaned in pain as dark red blood poured from his side. He was having trouble breathing, each inhalation bringing him unbearable agony. At least five of his ribs were broken, and he was willing to bet that he was having some internal bleeding as well, which would no doubt complicate his recovery. But he was alive.  
  
Stumbling out of the crumbled restaurant, the first thing he saw would scar his memory until his dying day. He saw Marche, the fearless warrior that he watched in awe as he crushed opponent after opponent in the training arena, doubled over a bloodied corpse, weeping uncontrollably. He could just make out a luxurious lock of red hair from beneath Marche's black armored form.  
  
"Dear god," he said, an intense feeling of dread washing over him. Using the sheath like a crutch, he walked over on wobbling legs, blood still leaking from his torso. He refused to believe what he was seeing, praying that his eyes were deceiving him. Unfortunately, they were not.  
  
Marche stood up upon hearing Ivan's approach. He was breathing heavily, his face distorted in a nightmarish combination of anger and sorrow.  
  
"She's dead, Ivan," he said coldly.  
  
"Move aside. I can-"  
  
"No you can't. I've already tried. Not even the Phoenix could revive her. There's nothing we can do." Marche turned around to face Ivan. For a brief moment, Ivan recoiled at the sight of the Soulvetar. It was not the sash of Ritz's blood that had stained his chest that so terrified him. It was his eyes.  
  
Vandal, he couldn't help but think. Marche's eyes were void of human emotion. They glowed with a evil light the likes of which Ivan had never seen in a mortal. They were the eyes of the devil.  
  
Ivan walked past Marche and kneeled before Ritz's crushed body. It was a gruesome thing to see. Her chest had been split open by the thunderous force of Kreiger's Excalibur, and her normally crimson armor and clothing were colored a dark black by her blood. His body was visibly shaking. He pressed the sheath of his sword against his forehead and uttered a guttural prayer in the Bangaa language. He could not feel her life energy anywhere as he normally could with a dead body. It was as if her candle had not only been snuffed out, but actually submerged in water. There was no trace of her spirit.  
  
"She truly is gone," the Black Monk said quietly. Marche's hand tensed up against the leather wrapped handles of his black Paradox Blade.  
  
"I could have saved her. I promised....that I would never leave her. I....failed," he said in a whisper that slowly grew into a growl. "I....I.....am going to kill Archemis. I'm going to tear him limb from limb then throw his body straight into Hell."  
  
"Marche..." Ivan started to say.  
  
"Ivan, don't. He deserves to die. And these hands are going to do it," he said, staring down at his blood stained gauntlets.  
  
"You really do sicken me, Marche," a voice said out of nowhere. "To think that such a valiant warrior could be reduced to a whimpering dog over a woman." Marche recognized the voice. He caught the black figure standing in the devastated street out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"Mirabo!" he shouted in anger as he launched his furious Dante attack at the cloaked phantom. The fiery serpent struck Mirabo, engulfing him in a burning hellfire.  
  
"You are very, VERY dense. I thought I explained to you that you can't kill me!" Mirabo said as he calmly walked out of the flames, he clothing not even singed. He still wore the metal mask that hid his disfigured face.  
  
"What can I say. It makes me feel better," Marche said dryly. Meanwhile, Ivan was standing aside, next to Ritz's body very confused.  
  
"What kind of demon is this?" he asked Marche. He was really wishing that he had his sword.  
  
"He's a ghost that doesn't want to stay dead," Marche responded.  
  
"As if I had a choice in the matter. By my life and death is not in question here," Mirabo said, suddenly appearing next to Marche, looking over at Ritz. Ivan's eyes were wide in shock. "Hers, on the other hand, is."  
  
"What?" Marche snapped, whipping his White Paradox Blade up and pressing it against Mirabo's neck.  
  
"Will you stop that!?"  
  
The Steel faced ghost walked over to Ritz's body. He placed his bandage wrapped hand in the pool of blood that had formed around her. He raised to his hidden faced, staring intently at the scarlet fluid that covered the white fabric on his hands.  
  
"This is bad. For everyone," he said. Marche was surprised at his apparent concern. Before he could reply, Mirabo raised his hand to silence him.  
  
"It's nothing personal. I just didn't believe that the girl could be killed so easily."  
  
"You son of a-" Marche started, but Ivan interrupted him.  
  
"What are you talking about?" he asked.  
  
"I guess that Marche didn't explain everything to you. All right, I'll make it simple for you. Ivalice does want Marche or the girl to die. That's why they ended up in this world in the first place. Call it fate or destiny, but the world pulled them from theirs before they could be consumed by the flames of the Alpha Stone."  
  
"The Alpha Stone? You mean that thing in Kreiger's chest?" Marche said.  
  
"The Alpha Stone...I've heard legends about that. It is supposed to grant whoever holds it the power of God. Or of Vandal. But are you saying that Archemis found the Alpha Stone?" Ivan asked. Mirabo smiled behind his mask. In an instant, he was standing a dozen yards away, where Kreiger was struck down. There was a large burn mark where Marche's Prima Cross had removed all traces of Kreiger from the universe, Mirabo knelt down and brushed through the blackened dirt until he pulled out a tiny shard of crystal.  
  
"Yes. Archemis did find that Alpha Stone. That's why he suddenly turned against Ivalice in the north. When he discovered the power it gave him, something changed in his head. Warped his thinking. And it's why he's been unstoppable and will remain unstoppable until either the power of the Stone overcomes him or you destroy it." Mirabo held the shard of Crystal up to the newly risen moon. Its pink aura refracted foreboding red light on Mirabo's chiseled face.  
  
"How do you know so much about Archemis?" Ivan asked. Even he did not know that much.  
  
"I know everything, my dear Bangaa." He turned around and teleported again, this time landing on top of one of the few buildings that remained intact.  
  
"Mirabo, I swear, if you leave us like this, I will find a way to kill you and use it. You have to tell us how to stop Archemis," Marche said, his patience running out. Mirabo laughed.  
  
"Go east, to Sienna Gorge. Past that, you'll reach Deti Plains. There, you'll meet a Sage named Ghent. His cronies may give you some trouble, but if you reach him, he can help you. Oh, and bring the girl's body," he said as he turned to leave.  
  
"You can't mean Ghent of Turpscadai..." Ivan said. His stomach was doing flips.  
  
"What are you talking about?! And why do you want us to bring Ritz?!" Marche yelled, approaching his boiling point.  
  
"Because," Mirabo said, as his body slowly faded into the moonlight, "he can bring her back." 


	13. Chapter 13 Phantom

Sigma's Note: I greatly apologize for my extended sabbatical, but I've been busy with a huge writing project for another site, plus school and writers block combined to make a nasty deterrent for my writing of this Fanfic. I'll try to start it up again.

Is there a way to transfer this to the new FFTA category without losing all my Reviews? Call me egotistical, but I enjoy having a big number of reviews for my stories.

Chapter 13

Phantom

Somewhere in the Northern Regions......

"I see that Kreiger was eliminated. That's something of a surprise."

"It is my fault, Lord Archemis. I failed to eliminate my brother when I had the chance. Had I done that, Master Kreiger may have had a better chance."

"It doesn't matter. It did give me the opportunity to gauge the power of the Soulvetar. And the Destroyer did manage to eliminate the Skarcastor before he was felled by that remarkable magic. Sagaro!"

"Yes my lord?"

"Do you know of their new destination?"

"With the death of the girl, the Soulvetar is most likely headed for Ghent at Deti. He cannot be allowed to revive her."

"Yes, the Sage. The one who can defy the reaper himself. Retrieve Mara for me. Have her intercept the Monk and the Soulvetar at Sienna Gorge."

"Of course, Lord Archemis."

"Sagaro, wait!"

"My Lord?"

"She is already here. Come out, woman!"

"I see you are still as sharp as ever, Lord Archemis. I did not expect that I would be able to evade your eye for very long."

"I do not see merely with human eyes. I suppose you were here from the beginning?

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good. Then go. Do not allow them to reach the Sage of Deti."

"Of course. I will not fail you, Lord Archemis."

Sienna Gorge...

A single golden chocobo pulled a cart through the red-brown stone walls of the Gorge. It was nearing sunset as the solemn precession walked through the canyon. The cart hosted a sturdy glass dome with a body inside, dressed in brilliant red garments with a veiled face. She was deathly white, her body preserved from decay my herbs and the magic of a Black Monk. Ivan and Marche walked beside the cart, Marche glancing over to look at the woman he loved, his eyes filled with utter, interminable sadness. He had lost everything in his life. His friends in two worlds, gone, brought to their deaths by the same madman that had facilitated the death of Ritz. It was almost too much for him to bear. His last hope was the lone sage a top a spire castle in the middle of Deti Plains, beyond the Gorge of Dawn that they were treading through.

The wind rustled through the Gorge, blowing Marche's long blonde ponytail back.

"What do you know about this Sage?" Marche asked Ivan.

"His name is Ghent Forescythe. He is part of the Nu Mou Science Guild that believes less in the mystic arts and more in mathematics and chemistry. In recent years they've all but overtaken the mystic Nu Mou, but not in a hostile way. The Nu Mou believe in logic and reason beyond all else, and took to the new sciences instantly. The Moogles may be great machinists, but their scienticific prowess cannot approach that of the Nu Mou. They seemed to have merge magical study with scientific study to discover new wonders in the universe. Ghent apparently found the ultimate power through their science, the power over ultimate death, death that not even the Phoenix can revive. However, he refused to share it with his colleagues, retreating to Deti Plains to live like a hermit. His existence is a closely guarded secret among the Guild, as they do not wish this power to fall into the wrong hands," Ivan explained.

"How do you know about him?" Marche replied.

"Alchemis tried to enlist him in his service to build an army of soldiers that could resurrect themselves after falling in battle. Ghent may be a bizarre character, but he certainly saw the trouble in that, and refused. I'm not sure why Archemis didn't kill him right then and there, but he didn't."

"That seems awfully compassionate of him," Marche said.

"I think Archemis thought, and probably still thinks, that he can use Ghent for something. However, he may change his mind if we manage to revive Ritz," Ivan said.

"We will. We have to."

The sun was setting. The sky burst in deep purples and fiery oranges as the sun sank beneath the horizon, the walls of the canyon glittering like rubies. The bright red color reminded Marche too much of Ritz as he walked along. She lay next to him, so close, but still separated by the impenetrable veil of death. Her red hair still shone as it did when she was alive. He pressed his hand against the glass, overcome with sorrow. He felt tears welling up in his eyes, but shook them off as he and Ivan continued to walk on towards their goal. The Chocobo was the strongest animal they could find, and he and Ivan were more than prepared to walk all night to reach Deti as soon as possible.

However, as much as they were driven to, sleep threatened to overcome them. In the blackness of night, Marche and Ivan found themselves sitting around a camp fire, the Chocobo lying behind them, whispering quiet "warks" as it slept. The glass casing that held Ritz's delicate body was covered with a blood red blanket, as if the girl herself was covered for sleep.

Marche just stared into the flickering fire, his body and mind exhausted. Ivan sat meditating silently, the hilt of his sword pressed against his forehead and the blade driven into the ground. Marche envied him. The Monk could lose himself in his meditation, be free from emotion and anxiety, free from his consciousness, floating in the nothingness of blank thought, only the mentally spoken words of a mantra echoing in his mind.

It was then that Marche noticed something. A single tear streaming down the great lizard's face. The rest of his body remained stoic, slow deep breaths visible from his chest and nostrils at the end of his long snout, but that single tear betrayed something within him.

"You truly did love her, didn't you?" Ivan suddenly said.

"What?" Marche said in surprise.

"I didn't realize how deep your feelings went for each other. I can now sense how your soul feels shattered, like a vital part of it is missing," Ivan said.

"How do you..."Marche trailed off.

"I can project my mind over an entire area in my meditation. I can sense the spirits of the ground and the sky and living beings around us. Only in meditation, I can grasp their fears, their hopes, their desires as tangible things. But you, all I sense around you is coldness and emptiness. I pity you, but at the same time, I admire you. I can sense the overwhelming emotions within, threatening to burst out and unleash whatever dark, hellspawned demons you hold inside your tortures soul. But you push them back. You are a very strong person, stronger than any I have seen before," Ivan said in a low tone. Marche remained silent for a moment, watching as the flame danced before them.

"Have you ever lost someone you've loved, Ivan?" Marche said.

"I cannot say that I have. My inner darkness comes from my past deeds, not from the torture of loss," Ivan replied.

"I suppose I never fully understood how much of a part of me Ritz was until it was too late. Now, it feels Kreiger stuck his sword in me as well, but my body refused to die. It feels like my soul departed along with hers, and I am nothing but the walking dead," Marche said sullenly. He lay back on the hard ground and looked up at the stars, so different from the ones he had seen so often in his own world.

"I don't recognize any of those constellations," Marche said. "In my world, I could point out a dozen shapes in the stars. Orion, Libra, Draco. Now, they're gone. My world has been scorched clean of all life. Everyone I've ever known is dead now, a smoldering skeleton buried in red sand. She...Ritz was the last one. I've never felt so alone as I do right now, looking up at these star."

"We will bring her back, my friend," Ivan said. "I can assure you of that."

Marche sighed as his eyelids slowly closed and he drifted off into sweet unconsciousness.

"Wake up," Ivan whispered to Marche, shaking him slightly. The Soulvetar bolted up and almost cried out in shock, but Ivan wrapped his hand around his mouth. "Don't say anything. We are being watched."

"By who?" Marche said as Ivan removed his hand.

"I don't know. But I sense immediate danger from all directions," Ivan replied. Marche unsheathed his Paradox Blades and rose to his feet. As he did, he heard the unmistakable whistling of an arrow flying through the air. He jumped to the side and hugged the wall as the arrow whizzed past him, striking the ground where he was standing.

"Snipers," Marche said quietly. "What do they want?"

"They're probably sent by Archemis to stop us. He more than likely knows that we are headed towards Ghent's tower, and since he is not willing to destroy the one that has control over ultimate death, he's decided to stop us from reaching him," Ivan explained. He dropped to the ground as another arrow shot by the side of his face.

"How many do you think he sent after us?" Marche said.

"Just one," said a voice from above the canyon walls. In the bright starlight, a dozen Viera Snipers appeared above them, greatbows trained on the two warriors. "I am Mara the Phantom, number 9 of the Megalomancers," said on of the figures,

"What the hell is going on here?" Marche said.

"Mara the Phantom," Ivan said. "I heard stories about her when I was in the service of Archemis. She's a Sniper that somehow managed to master the art of the Black Chakra, allowing her to achieve supreme feats of illusion and mysticism. Such powers are usually only given to the most powerful Bangaa Monks." He raised the flat side of his blade up to block an arrow.

"So you're saying that this is an illusion?" Marche asked.

"Oh, I can assure you, it's quite real," said one of the Snipers. "As long as the spell remains in place, each one of these mirrors of myself is as real as I am." With that, the sound of a dozen bows being drawn was heard. "As are these arrows!"

In a second, a hellstorm of arrows fell from the sky towards Ivan and Marche. The Chocobo immediately sensed the danger and cried out with a shrill "WARK!" before bolting away. Marche shoved Ivan backwards and crossed his Paradox Blades. The familiar purple energy of the Prima Cross swirled around them. Marche grimaced and released the attack in a mighty sweep. As the arrows flew towards him, a brilliant wave of magical energy burst from the bubbling orb of power, knocking them back from their trajectories.

"Marche!" Ivan shouted as the Soulvetar panted. "If you provide a distraction, I can dispel her illusion!" He retreated towards Ritz's glass coffin.

"Got it!" Marche replied, regaining his strength from having to use the Prima Cross in a way in which it was not meant to be.

"I don't think so, traitor!" shouted all 12 of the Snipers. One of them turned and fired an arrow directly at the Black Monk. He tried to dive behind the cart before it struck him, but he was too slow. Without a second to lose, Marche lept towards the narrow canyon wall and propelled himself off it, right into the path of the arrow. He raised one of his blades and the steel head deflected of its flat side. Marche continued towards the opposite wall of the canyon, launching himself from that as well, finally landing atop the gorge, and short of breath. He was now facing down 12 very shocked and very angry Snipers.

"Die!" The shouted in unison and let fly with their arrows.

Meanwhile, with their enemies distracted, Ivan proceeded to inscribe a circle in the dirt around him and the coffin with his sword. When he completed it, he then drew several symbols within the circle, then sat down cross-legged. He reached into his black garb and removed a stack of white papers with symbols written in think black ink. He held the stack in his palms, whispered a word and the sutras burst from the pile, flying around the circle in a whirlwind before coming to very abrupt stops at regular intervals and just hovering. Ivan then proceeded to meditate.

Atop the ridge, Marche was frantically diving from side to side to dodge the flurry of arrows cutting through the air in his direction. He knew how to avoid being hit, but not when he was being attacked by a dozen enemies simultaneously and without any cover. He winced as one of the arrows cut through his upper thigh. He couldn't get close enough to hit them, and he wasn't going to hold off much longer.

Suddenly, the fierce salvo ceased. All 12 Snipers turned their heads and ran to the lip of the canyon.

"No!" they shouted as they saw what Ivan was attempting to do. The all drew and fired at the same time, the projectiles arching towards the monk with deadly accuracy. Before they could even come close to hitting him, the were suddenly deflected. It was as if they had struck a wall. The impacts caused the shield that Ivan had constructed around himself to shimmer.

"I control this zone now, Mara. Bid goodbye to your illusions!" he shouted and made a strange hand gesture. Instantly, 11 of the 12 Snipers cried out in horror as they burst into blue flames. Marche jumped back in shock at the sudden immolation. After a few seconds, the fires vanished, and 11 bows and quivers fell to the ground. The quivers revealed a piece of white paper similar to the ones Ivan used had been stuck on it.

Now the real Mara the Phantom stood alone.

"Very good, Monk. You took control and dispelled my Mirror Army. However, you're going to have to do better than that!" she said. The air around her shimmered and she let out a ghostly laugh before vanishing completely.

"Where'd she go?" Marche exclaimed. He soon received his answer.

His eyes shot open as an arrow pierced his right arm. He fell to his knees and quickly grabbed and pulled it out, his blood spattering on the rocky ground below. He looked around frantically, but could see nothing.

"You see, my young Soulvetar, the normal, run of the mill Conceal skill creates a bubble of invisibility around the user that is popped by any sort of physical attack. However, the Black Chakras have allowed me to create a much more....efficient bubble that isn't so easily broken," she said, her voice echoing through the night sky. To prove her point, two more arrows lanced towards Marche. He managed to avoid one of them, but the second pierced the armor on his right shoulder, breaking the skin but not going much farther. He pulled it out with a grunt.

"Ivan! This is not good!" he shouted down at the Monk below. He received no response.

"Ha! There is no dissolving this Chakra! Not even the infamous Black Monk can dispel it!" Mara gloated. Another two arrows shot out of thin air, grazing Marche's armor. It was all he could do just to avoid them.

He jumped back and thrust his arms to the side, and a pair of raging streams of fire shot out from his body. He twirled the around 360 degrees, scorching a circle of ground around himself. He had to have hit her with that attack.

"You missed," a voice whispered in his ear. Marche spun around in time to catch an arrow manually thrust into his already wounded shoulder. He stumbled back in pain, pulling in the wooden shaft from the wound. It was much deeper than the first, and copious amounts of blood poured over his lean black armor.

_Ivan, where are you?_ he thought. He was growing weaker from fatigue and blood loss.

All of a sudden, he saw Mara standing in front of him with her bow drawn. It was only a flash of her figure, but it gave Marche enough time to gauge the trajectory of the attack and leap out of the way. The arrow flew past him by a more than comfortable margin.

Ivan's voice echoed through Marche's thoughts.

"I am in control of the zone. I can see the Phantom a split second before she attacks. I will guide your attacks with my thoughts," Ivan said in his meditative state. Marche nodded.

"A lucky guess, boy," Mara said. Marche saw another flash of the Viera before she launched an attack. He turned to the side as another arrow went past him.

"Not quite," Marche said. Another brief glimpse at his invisible attacker hit him and he immediately launched a Dante attack at her. The fire stream shot towards her position, and Marche shuddered for a second as a blood curdling scream echoed through the air. Slowly, Mara's body flickered back into view, the entire right side of her body horribly burned. She screamed in agony as she stumbled around aimlessly.

"Im...possible!" she groaned. "How did you...see through my Black Chakra?" Marche said nothing. With her right arm completely inoperable, she was unable to use her bow.

"The Monk!" she growled. "It was him! I'll kill him!" With that, she jumped down into the canyon below. Her Viera physique allowed her to take the fall without so much as a grunt. She drew an arrow from her quiver and removed a sutra from within her garment. Wrapping it around the shaft of the arrow, she dashed towards Ivan, his body still seemingly catatonic in his meditation. "I'll shatter your shield and pierce you right between the eyes!"

In a second, she confronted the previously unbreakable barrier and plunged the arrow into it.

"Haraiku!" she shouted as the sutra burst into blue flames and the shield vanished. Ivan's eye's snapped open to see the arrow coming right at his face. He couldn't react in time.

It stopped less than in inch from breaking the skin.

Mara's face was frozen into a look of distorted terror. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. A black aura surrounded her as a tiny orb of dark energy formed in her midsection. It began to grow, overtaking more and more of her sleek body by the second. Ivan watched intently as the Chaos Bomb swallowed her up, looking into her wide eyes as they were enveloped by the power of the singularity. Then it abruptly shrunk back into nothing but a tiny cloud of purple electricity.

Ivan looked up to see Marche's wounded body standing in front of him, his arm outstretched and the remnants of the Chaos Bomb still crackling around his open palm. He was breathing heavily, his wounds threatening to overtake him. He smiled faintly before falling to the ground. Ivan calmly stood up and walked over to the unconscious warrior, and began to treat his wounds.


End file.
